


Cast Your Fate To the Wind

by elrhiarhodan



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Angst, BDSM, British History Lesson, Clothes Sharing, Cock Sucking, Control Issues, Curtain Fic, Discussion of Edge Play, Domesticity, Dream Sex, First Time, Friendship, Frotting, Harry Hart Lives, Hartwin, Homecoming, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Piercing, Poetry, Roleplay, Wearing Another Man's Underwear, Wooing with Poetry, bed sharing, confession of love, minor consent issues, not TGC compliant, pleasure slave fantasy, rentboy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-03-05 16:23:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 78,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13391655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: Harry Hart survived the bullet to the brain and the Statesman rescued him.  He recovered and spent two years under their care, believing he was a twenty year old lepidopterist.  But one morning, Harry wakes up and remembers everything - Kingsman, the Church, his murder, and most of all his parting with Eggsy.  He finds that the Statesman are an organization not too dissimilar to his own, but he plays things close to his vest and tells them nothing.Armed with nothing more than his suit, a Canadian passport, and a few hundred British pounds, Harry returns home, knowing that he'll be facing the most difficult test of all - the Lazarus Protocol.  If Kingsman believes he's been compromised, Harry could end up very dead.  But it's a risk he has to take.  He has to find out what's happened to Eggsy.  Nothing else matters.





	1. The Gift of Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2017 Kingsman Flash Bang. My artist, the awesome [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/Stravaganza/profile)[](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/Stravaganza/)**Stravaganza** , has created cover and and mood panels for every chapter.
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos for Stravaganza on her artpost - [**Cast Your Fate To the Wind - Book Cover**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13393392)

Harry Hart remembers who he is on a cool autumn day, more than two years after Richmond Valentine shoots him in the face and leaves him for dead.

At first, he doesn't know it's been that long. For a week, he pretends that nothing has changed, nothing is different. He continues to act as if he's still a twenty year old boy in the body of a fifty-five year old man and that all he cares about are butterflies. He pretends so his keepers – or quite possibly his captors – don't know that he's remembered who he is and what he is and everything he's done.

Including massacring more than forty people in a fit of electronically induced rage.

Harry doesn't know if his brain had simply finished healing, or if there had been a trigger that restored his memories. The night before they'd returned, he'd been watching a television programme about butterflies and had left it on for the next programme, something about small dog breeds. He had dozed off with the television still playing and woke up remembering huge chunks of his life.

In the initial rush – names and people and places that are of great importance to him – Harry's memories are confusing. He's swamped by a sense of murderous rage, the need to fight and kill, but that swiftly passes and he's left with sorrow and regret. Images start to coalesce, a dog, a young man, a room filled with butterflies – not living creatures but dead specimens pinned into shadow boxes. The dog is pinned, too. No, the dog is dead and kept as a memorial. 

Harry keeps trying to focus on the young man in his memories. His clothes are boyish, his face unlined, but there's something old in his eyes, as if he's seen too much, been hurt by the world too many times.

There's an angry exchange, this young man and someone unseen are shouting at each other, flinging hurt like bonobos flinging shit, and Harry knows for certain that he's the one speaking, he's the one causing so much pain.

_Limits must be tested. A Kingsman only condones the risking of a life to save another._

_Like my dad saved your life even though your fuck-up cost his. Or have you got him stuffed here and all?_

_Can't you see that everything I've done has been about trying to repay him?_

The young man looks gutted, as if someone he's trusted has just betrayed him.

_Eggsy …_

With that name, everything snaps into place. He knows what Kingsman is. He knows who he is. He's not some lost young man who dreams of finding a previously undiscovered species of butterfly, but Harry Hart. Agent Galahad. Spy and killer.

It's difficult, but Harry packs away all thoughts of Eggsy and keeps his regained memories a secret until he can determine that he's not being held by an overtly hostile force, until he can ascertain that Harry Hart – Agent Galahad – isn't some pawn in a greater game. The challenge is to read the people caring for him, to look them in the eye and see them for who they are without exposing the truth of who he really is.

For seven days he plays this game, and with each day he grows more certain that he's one lucky son of a bitch, that the people who saved his life didn't do so for some nefarious and yet-to-be-revealed purpose. They are also remarkably loose-lipped, giving Harry enough information to determine that he's still in the U.S., that it's been more than two years since they found him, and that their boss has no plans on kicking Harry out any time soon.

On the eighth morning, after a shower and a shave, when the young man in the cowboy gear – he calls himself Tequila – brings him his breakfast, Harry drops the mask he's been wearing and asks if he can speak to the person in charge.

Tequila, who's little more than a boy and reminds Harry of Eggsy, gives him a hard look but just says he'll be right back. 

Harry's left to his own devices for a while, and he uses the time to put away the childish things that have occupied him for so long. He closes sketchpads and reference books, puts away pencils and paints, gathers up papers into neat piles. Nothing from this interlude of innocence means anything to him anymore. 

The young man returns, accompanied by another man, older – but not as old as Harry – who bears the equally ridiculous moniker of Whiskey. Whiskey had questioned Harry a few times, trying to penetrate the fog of Harry's amnesia, but Harry's not giving him anything. Even before he'd regained his memories and his sense of self, Harry hadn't liked this man. He still doesn't. There is something sly and untrustworthy about him and Harry knows he should not be alone with him, at least unarmed.

Harry meets Whiskey's gaze full on, he lets Whiskey see the kind of man he is – dangerous and determined – and in return, Harry looks into Whiskey's eyes and sees pain and treachery.

He files that away, it's information that's not yet useful.

They take Harry through what looks like a vast and well-maintained distillery, and into a boardroom that reminds Harry of the upstairs meeting room at the Kingsman shop, where Chester holds court.

It's a curious thing, to think of Kingsman and not know anything about its current status. Harry doesn't even know if Valentine set off his wave of electronic genocide, or of Kingsman – anyone – had been able to stop him.

Those concerns are pushed aside when he's greeted by a white-haired man, perhaps a decade older than Harry, himself. The man's gaze is direct and piercing and leaves Harry feeling quite vulnerable, a state he loathes.

"You can call me Champ."

During the journey from his quarters, Harry had thought about giving one of his many false identities, but he's worried that the minute that name is entered into a database, someone at Kingsman will be alerted. He wants to go back on his own terms, under his own power. Revealing that he's alive can make things terribly complicated.

And his real name works in his favor: "Harry Hart" isn't particularly uncommon, and at the time of his "death", Harry had been aware of at least a dozen different men bearing the same name, and most of them had been roughly his age. So he feels it's safer to use his real name and introduces himself, "And you can call me Harry. Harry Hart."

Still, Harry waits to see if that name gets a reaction, but it doesn't. But Champ seems to know that Harry's not just some random Englishman who got caught in the crossfire. He's as cagey as Harry, not revealing anything, while probing Harry for information.

After an hour of back and forth questioning that reveals nothing, Champ laughs and says, "I give up. Whoever you are, Harry Hart, you're one god-damn son of a bitch and I like you."

Harry allows himself a smile and admits to the same.

"Now, what do you want to know?"

Harry decides he can share something. "I was shot in the head by Richmond Valentine after I'd survived a small-scale test of a device he intended to use to set off mass genocide. Did that happen?"

Champ grimaces. "The world went crazy for about seventy seconds and twelve million people died. Most of the world governments were decimated. The funny thing is, no one knows why it stopped – why the wave was so brief. As bad as it was, it should have been much worse."

Harry's appalled by the body count. It only increases his sense of urgency. "I need to get home."

"England?"

Harry nods. "Yes, and the sooner, the better. Do you know what happened to my suit?" He's terribly uncomfortable in the soft track pants and jacket he has on, one of several he's wearing for the past two years. In these casual clothes, Harry feels naked, exposed. Vulnerable. 

His suit is important for more than the emotional security it provides. Sewn within the lining is a data key that will give Harry access to a bitcoin account and the funds that can get him the fake identification he'll need to get home. There's another data key there, too. One that will send an alert to a very private message server that can only be accessed by one person – Merlin. Harry's not certain, though, if he should pull that trigger.

Champ interrupts Harry's musings. "I'll check with Ginger Ale about your suit. I seem to remember that she had been very interested in the material and its construction. Our quartermaster has a fine eye for good tailoring." Champ gives him a sly smile, telling him that he knows far too much.

Harry does, too. Whatever this place is, it's not just a distillery. Like Kingsman isn't just a bespoke tailor shop. 

"Don't worry about getting home. We'll take care of that for you. Passport, airplane ticket, whatever you need."

"Why are you being so generous?"

Champ gives him a twisted smile. "Let's just say that I hope you – and the people you work for – will remember us kindly."

Harry lets out a tiny sigh. "And who are _you_ , exactly?"

Champ slides a business card across the table. All it says is "Statesman".

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

An hour later, Harry is back in his quarters and has his suit. It's been cleaned and pressed and rather thoroughly examined. There's a bit of fabric missing from the inside of the pocket flap, some seams have been re-sewn, and some of the extra length on the right pants cuff is gone. Nothing too damaging.

But the most important part of the suit – for Harry's purposes at this moment – is intact. The stitching on the tailor's label – one that says _Huntsman_ , not _Kingsman_ , for obvious reasons – has not been disturbed. Harry dismantles the disposable razor he's been given and carefully picks at the stitching. Two small plastic strips etched in platinum slide out from behind the label – the data keys he has put into every suit he owns. Getting a secure connection might be difficult, or Harry can just say to hell with it and fry the computer he uses.

Except that destroying his host's equipment would be rather ungentlemanly of him.

Harry looks at the two data keys and shakes his head. He doesn't need to use them right away, not if Statesman is going to give him the necessary identification and a plane ticket home. The question is, should he trust these people?

They had saved his life and kept him safe; they'd humored his interests when he'd thought he was a man in his twenties with little interest in anything except butterflies. But at what cost? In regaining the memories of his full life, the life of a Kingsman, Harry finds that his memories of the interim time are quickly receding into fuzziness. 

That disturbs him; he can see the underpinnings of a darker plot here. If it's really been two years since Valentine tried to kill him, whoever rescued him would have had ample opportunity to compromise him, to implant all kinds of suggestions, to create a monster and let him loose on the world.

For that reason alone, Harry should just simply disappear. The bitcoin account isn't the only stash of funds he has, there are several lockboxes in Geneva and Lichtenstein with cash and identification. Harry could live quite comfortably, even extravagantly, if he wants. 

But he doesn't want that. He wants to go home, to see if Kingsman survived, to see Merlin, to …

Find Eggsy and apologize to him. And maybe make the relationship that had simmered between them a reality.

Sitting in this room, his suit on his lap, stroking the fine fabric, Harry finally allows himself to think about Eggsy, about their last meeting.

_"Can't you see that everything I've done has been about trying to repay him."_ Those words echo like rapid-fire gunshot.

The look on Eggsy's face, the utter devastation and raw pain, had stayed with Harry for the entire trip from London to Kentucky. The angry words he'd flung at Eggsy, deliberately hurtful because he'd been so disappointed, had been on endless repeat for hours, and it had only been the viciousness of the South Glade Mission Church's preacher that had shaken him out of the fugue.

It's odd, but Harry feels nothing other than a mild regret for the men and women he'd slaughtered. Their lives had been lost long before he set foot in that building – they'd been dead the moment Richmond Valentine had decided to test his device on them. 

Harry's far more shattered at the thought that Eggsy – bright, beautiful, compassionate, talented Eggsy – might have been killed in the massacre. If the boy hadn't pointed the gun at Chester, threatened him, stolen Chester's car, Harry could have found a place for Eggsy within Kingsman; there is always a need for the talented in the organization. But Harry knows Chester King, knows just how much Chester loathes the idea of anyone of common blood having value, and when Chester had called him and told him what Eggsy had done after failing to shoot his dog, Harry had known that it would be impossible for Eggsy to stay with Kingsman. 

When he'd called Harry with the news, Chester had said he'd wanted Eggsy's mind wiped and the memories of his training erased. He didn't care when Harry said that the long-term amnesia drugs would likely leave Eggsy as a mentally shattered wreck, dangerously psychotic. In fact, Chester had been delighted by that news; he'd wanted Eggsy destroyed, like a rabid dog. That's why Harry had commanded Eggsy to stay at his house, hoping that the boy would be safe there. But hope is a fragile thing, easily bruised, easily destroyed.

It's the not-knowing that's driving Harry back, forcing him to risk everything. And if Eggsy's gone, if he'd been killed in the massacre, Harry's not sure he'll be able to return to the life he'd lived for so long. 

To be a Kingsman, to be Galahad. If that is even possible, with one eye missing and a tremor that will make it impossible to shoot straight.

A little sick at heart, Harry knows he has to move forward. He puts on clothing he hasn't worn in two years. The shirt that he's been given is new, good quality but not quite his style with the plain button cuffs (although he does find his cufflinks in the suit's breast pocket). The suit itself is a touch too big, especially around the chest. That's not surprising, Harry's slightly disgusted at how soft his body's gotten, at how much muscle he's lost. The trousers are, conversely, slightly tight at the waist.

_Well, that figures._

He finishes dressing, grateful to click his heels and see the leaf-shaped knife spring out. He carefully pushes is back. The poison's probably gone inert, but probably isn't certainly, and he's not going to risk killing himself in such a stupid way. Harry does feel a bit more comfortably, though, knowing he has at least one weapon on him.

There's something missing from his attire – his shoulder holster. He'd like it back, it had been nicely broken in; the leather soft from years of wear but still strong.

He also realizes his watch is missing, and the truth of everything just sinks in. His caretakers have always known he hadn't been a random stranger caught in the crossfire. The Kingsman-adapted Bremont is the ultimate spy gadget, complete with knockout and amnesia darts. Something that no ordinary citizen would carry.

Harry looks at himself in the mirror – something he remembers avoiding – and his sense of self fully snaps into place. This is the man he knows himself to be. The soft boy in an old man's body, wearing soft tracksuits and muttering softly about butterflies only exists as a fast-fading memory. 

"Mr. Hart?" Harry turns around and finds the young man, Tequila, standing in the doorway. "You certainly look different. Like a completed new person."

Harry gives Tequila a slight smile. "Let's just say, I am the old me. The new me doesn't exist anymore."

Tequila scratches at the back of his neck. "If you say so. What should we do with your books and papers and shit?"

"Language." The admonition pops out automatically.

"Ya kidding me, right?"

Harry just shakes his head, not quite believing what he'd just said. "You can burn this … shit … if you want. I have no use for it anymore."

"If you say so."

"I do." Harry follows Tequila out into the hallway and back through the warren of corridors that leads to the distillery floor. Champ is there, making conversation with a distillery worker, but when he spots Harry, he comes over. Quite unbelievably, he's carrying Harry's shoulder holster.

"Guess you'll want this back."

"Thank you." Harry takes off his jacket, hands it to Tequila, who rolls his eyes, puts on the holster – it feels right, despite the missing gun – and takes his jacket back. When Champ offers him his Bremont, ticking nicely, Harry shakes his head.

"What? You don't want it anymore? It's any awfully nice watch, and I can't say I've ever seen a timepiece with complications quite like this one has."

"Yes, it is a rather special piece." Harry doesn't snatch the watch out of Champ's hand, but it's a close run thing. He looks Champ in the eye and says, "You always knew what I was."

Champs smiles. "Yup. I always knew _what_ you were, if not _who_ you were – are. I also know which agencies you don't belong to, but I haven't found any who would claim you."

That information doesn't really ease Harry's worries. "I trust your enquiries were discreet."

"Of course." Champ doesn't bother to pretend offense. "You'll also need this." 

The old man holds out a passport, Harry wants to laugh. "Canadian?"

"Apparently everyone loves 'em – such polite fuckers. You'll have less trouble at immigration, with that accent. You'll also need this."

Harry takes the envelope that Champ proffers and looks inside. There's a business class ticket from Louisville to New York, and first class to Heathrow, plus a several hundred in U.S. dollars and an equivalent amount in pounds. "Your generosity is most appreciated." Harry doesn't say what he thinks, that it's too much and will put Harry into Champ's debt for a long time to come. 

That would be rude.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	2. This Green and Pleasant Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is back in England, back home, and despite the trials he's about to face, everything feels right. If only he knew what happened to Eggsy.

It's dark and raining when Harry's flight lands at Heathrow and he feels every year of his age. Despite the first class amenities, it's been decades since he's had to fly commercial and frankly, he hopes to never have to do so again. At least he hadn't had to take off his oxfords when going through airport security – it would have been difficult to explain the knife in the sole of his shoe.

As promised, the Canadian passport makes his transition through customs and immigration a breeze, and it helps that he has no luggage; he has nothing with him at all. The two novels he'd picked up a bookstore in the New York airport had been left behind in the seat back pocket. Perhaps the cabin attendants might find them enjoyable, Harry certainly did not.

Rather than deal with the inclement weather and the traffic heading into London, Harry elects to say in a hotel near the airport, exchanging Champ's dollars for British pounds, using the money to obtain some fresh smallclothes, a new shirt and tie at one of the duty-free shops on his way out of the airport.

As he waits for the hotel shuttle in a steady October drizzle, Harry longs for his Rainmaker – he feels half naked without it. That longing doesn't mask the deep, aching satisfaction of being back on British soil. While the air reeks of jet fuel and car exhaust fumes, every once and a while, he catches a whiff of the green notes of old grass and decaying leaves, stirring an almost primal memory of his own Englishness.

The rattling bus takes him to his hotel and Harry finds himself humming the words to William Blake's _Jerusalem_ , the hymn that every English schoolboy has sung since time immemorial.

_And did those feet in ancient times  
Walk upon England's mountains green..._

Harry laughs at himself for feeling so nostalgic. He'd never felt this way before, even after long missions that had kept him from England's soil for months on end. It makes sense, though. He's been lost, adrift, torn away from a life he'd loved. Coming home is just the first step in getting that life back. To being an Englishman again.

The hotel room is basic, the way most airport hotels are, but the hot water is plentiful, the sheets are clean and the towels are soft. Harry sleeps the sleep of the righteous and wakes fifteen minutes before the alarm goes off, a full hour before sunrise. He feels a bit shabby, wearing a suit he's travelled in for over a dozen hours, but it's still _his_ suit, a Kingsman suit. It's his armor, just a bit dented and tarnished.

The last stage of Harry's journey is remarkably uneventful; he takes a private car into the city. London proper doesn't seem to be showing too many scars from V-Day, although he'd seen signs of damage on the roads from Heathrow into the city. There had been too many burnt out buildings that hadn't been fixed, a general sense of decay and loss that is so dissonant to Harry's memories of London. Central London, with its obvious wealth, looks as pristine as it should be. The hire car takes him to Savile Row and drops him in front of the Kingsman tailor shop. 

The early morning's rain and gray clouds have given way to bright autumn sunshine and Harry feels that he is well and truly home.

He savors the feeling, knowing that this peace will be fleeting. Kingsman don't return from the dead without repercussion. Nearly thirty years ago, when Harry had become Galahad, the man who'd then been Arthur explained a number of things that candidates didn't need to know, but agents had to, including the Lazarus Protocol. Missing agents aren't greeted with open arms, but with handcuffs and brutal debriefings and endless isolation until every potential threat is neutralized. 

Arthur could have him executed, just for the greater good of the organization. 

At exactly nine AM, the lights flicker on in the Kingsman display window, signifying the start of the business day; the shop has nothing so vulgar as an "open/closed" card on the door.

Harry takes a deep breath and commits to this course of action. If he walks away, he'll never learn what has happened to the people he cares about, to the organization that has defined him for more than half his life. Yes, it would be easier to disappear, to vanish into oblivion, but he's Harry Hart and he's never taken the easy way out before and he's not about to start.

He climbs the steps, pushes open the front door, and is greeted by the familiar scent of fine wool and polished leather. Andrew, who's manned the front desk since before Harry's candidate days, looks up and smiles in greeting. The smile instantly fades when he recognizes Harry. He doesn't say a word, and from the movement of his shoulder, Harry can tell that Andrew has pressed the shop's panic button, putting the building on lockdown.

But Andrew himself doesn't panic. He pulls out the Glock-22 that's kept at the counter, points it at Harry and says, "Good morning, sir. Will you kindly keep your hands above your head and go up to the boardroom?"

Harry does as instructed. "And good morning to you, Andrew. It is a pleasure to see you again." Despite the volatility of the situation, Harry is just as polite.

"Likewise, sir." 

Harry heads upstairs as directed. The boardroom seems to be unchanged from the last time he'd been here; which doesn't surprise him at all. Kingsman is, after all, an organization built upon the respect for tradition.

"Please take a seat and put your hands flat on the table, sir." 

Never one to deny the little imp of mischief that still lives inside him, Harry sits down in Arthur's seat, at the head of the table. It's also the one that gives him full view of the door. As instructed, he places his hands flat on the table and Andrew keeps the Glock trained on him.

There's a clatter of hard soled shoes running up the stairs and Percival erupts through the doorway, gun drawn. The look of surprise on his face is something Harry will treasure forever.

"Harry?"

"Hello, Alastair. You're looking well." Percival is the only Kingsman that Harry thinks of or calls by his Christian name. Maybe because Alastair's the only Kingsman that Harry's ever fucked.

"And you're looking pretty spectacular for a dead man." Alastair is pointing his own gun at Harry, and says to Andrew, "Please let Arthur know what's going on and that we need him here, faster than immediately." 

Andrew nods in agreement, gives Harry an unreadable look and leaves.

Alastair sighs. "You know, you could have called ahead. We'd have had a welcome home party for you."

"Complete with balloons and banners and punch laced with the latest variant of Kingman's truth serum?"

Alastair grins. "Don't forget the cake."

Harry returns the smile. "Of course. Chocolate with almond buttercream and 'Welcome Back, Galahad' piped in fancy script?"

"Sounds delicious."

It actually does, especially since Harry had skipped breakfast. "Any chance for a cup of tea? The hotel I stayed at last night only had some god-awful bagged shit that smelled like three-day horse piss." 

Alastair chuckles at Harry's vulgar description. "Sadly, no. No tea for you, yet."

"Ah, of course. The Lazarus Protocol forbids tea for all agents who've returned from the dead. At least until they are cleared." Harry's not really joking – any sustenance he's given must first be approved by the agents assigned to his case.

"Exactly so." Alastair sits at the edge of the table but his gun is still trained on Harry. 

"Any chance you'll fill me in on what's happened since I died?"

"No chance at all."

That doesn't surprise Harry. "And I guess you're not interested in small talk."

"Harry Hart, you may be missing an eye, but I don't doubt with the least bit of distraction, you'd be able to disarm me, kill me and everyone here without so much an elevated heart rate."

"You make me blush, Alastair."

"I've seen you in action, Harry. We've worked together. Remember Aleppo in '93? Famagusta in 2001?"

Harry actually does. "I was a much younger man back then."

"Perhaps, but you always claimed to be like the finest of wines, improving with age."

"What an insufferable twat I was. And trust me; I'm in no shape to disarm anyone. I'm weak and flabby and exhausted. I wish Chester would arrive so we can get this started."

"Chester?" The question pops out of Alastair's mouth like an untimely fart, and he looks appalled at what he's just revealed.

Harry processes this new information. Chester King is dead and there's a new Arthur. Kingsman doesn't always select its leader from the ranks of its knights. Sometimes it finds a bureaucrat with the right connections, someone who can charm potential donors out of their fortunes. Chester King had been one of those, picked for his social influence and his prowess with bureaucratic minutiae. If Chester's replacement is an outsider, Harry's chances for surviving the Lazarus Protocol are slim.

Someone else is ascending the stairs, the footsteps are lighter, the rhythm youthful. Harry places a mental bet that it's Lancelot, who – unlike Eggsy – had the stones to shoot her dog. Maybe that's why Chester's gone; his heart couldn't take a female agent at the table.

And he wins the bet. The young woman enters the boardroom with her gun drawn. She looks at Harry and then at Alastair. "Percival?"

"Everything's under control." Alastair actually lowers his gun. 

Lancelot doesn't, she just gives Harry a hard stare.

"I didn't get a chance to congratulate you, Agent Lancelot. A belated 'Welcome to Kingsman'." 

"Thank you." There's a very deliberate pause before Lancelot adds, "Mr. Hart."

After the debacle of the final test, Harry had wanted to despise the girl for getting what he'd thought rightfully belonged to Eggsy, despite the illogic of that. Roxy Morton had succeeded where Eggsy had failed. And now, looking at Lancelot, in a Kingsman suit and glasses, holding a gun on him with steely resolve, Harry wonders if Eggsy could really have been suited for this life. The boy had such a soft and generous heart and Kingsman has a way of destroying softness, of repaying generosity with cruelty. All for the greater good, of course.

If only he knew what had happened to Eggsy…

There's another set of steps on the treads; slower, measured, purposeful.

And familiar.

Merlin enters and from the looks of him, he's no longer Kingsman's quartermaster. 

"Arthur." Harry doesn't stand, that could be construed as a threat.

"Is it that obvious?" His old friend is smiling.

"I can't think of any other reason why you'd be wearing a suit, unless this is going to be my funeral."

"It could very well be. Ye're such a fucking peacock, ye'd want to be at your own interment."

Alastair adds, "And give the eulogy, of course."

Harry can't control the bubble of laughter that wells up inside him and lifts his hands to cover his mouth. The sharp click of a trigger kills the amusement.

Lancelot takes a step forward. "Put your hands back down on the table. If you don't, I won't hesitate to shoot out your other eye."

Harry does as commanded, and actually quite delighted that Merlin – he'll never think of the man as Arthur – doesn't tell her to stand down. It's nice to still be perceived as a threat. "So, it's to be the Lazarus Protocol? You're going to take me to a beta site, subject me to an intensive debriefing, medical scans, psychological testing, and if I'm deemed a threat, eliminate me?"

Merlin frowns. "That pretty much sums it up." He moves close to Harry and reaches out. "May I?"

"May you what?" Harry has no clue what Merlin's asking for.

"See it? See what's behind the patch?"

Harry swallows and nods. He can remember, dimly, the shock of his younger self every time he'd looked at himself in the mirror. The scars on his body, the sagging and aged flesh, the hole in his face had been so at odds with the mental framework of a twenty-year-old. He'd looked at the hole in his face a few times since his memories had returned and he's always a little nauseated by it. Unlike the knife and bullet wounds, this isn't something that can be truly covered over. The eyepatch makes a definite statement that something's missing.

Merlin carefully lifts the patch up and Harry watches his old friend's reaction. Merlin winces.

"Well, it could have been worse." Merlin replaces the patch and steps back.

"That's true."

"And the eyepatch gives ye a rather dashing air. Not that ye really need to be any more dashing."

Harry sighs, "I'm afraid my dashing days are over. I'm old and slow now."

Whatever Merlin had been about to say is interrupted by the sound of clattering footsteps and a breathless, incredulous, "Harry!" 

Harry turns at the sound of his name spoken by a voice he hadn't expected to hear. "Eggsy?"

It is Eggsy, but not an Eggsy he's ever seen before. The boy isn't a boy anymore. He's a man, from the top of his impeccably groomed hair, to a clean-shaven jaw that would make Michelangelo's David weep with envy, to the unexpected breadth of his shoulders garbed in exquisite Kingsman tailoring, to his beautifully polished oxfords.

It seems that Eggsy Unwin has become, despite everything that had happened, a true Kingsman.

Harry stands, he can't help himself, and from the corner of his remaining eye, he sees Alastair pull the gun out of Lancelot's hands and push her into a seat. And then, all he can see is Eggsy.

"My dear boy." He's panting, breathless, as if Eggsy's entrance has stolen all the oxygen from the room. He walks towards this vision, feeling as if everything that's happened to him and everything that will happen to him, will be worth it – just knowing that his Eggsy is safe and well and prospering.

No one interrupts his progress as he approaches Eggsy. Harry licks his lips, his mouth bone-dry and all the words he'd wanted to say, the well-crafted and eloquent apologies, vanish like water in a desert.

"Eggsy – " He says the boy's name as if it's the holiest of prayers.

Eggsy reaches out and touches Harry's face. His fingers are warm, gentle, deliberate, and they prove to Harry that he is unquestionably alive. That they both are alive. 

Eggsy stares at him, eyes wide and pupils blown, his pink lips open just enough that Harry can see Eggsy's tongue; it's all he can do not to bend his head and capture that mouth, to claim it like an invader, to complete the emotional circuit that had been sizzling between them since the moment they'd met outside the Holborn police station.

He doesn't, though. He can't, not with the Lazarus Protocol hanging over him like the Sword of Damocles, and certainly not with a room full of people with guns.

And perhaps, most definitely, because he hasn't apologized to Eggsy for his cruel and vicious words.

"I'm sorry." Two words, not enough but a start.

"For what?" Eggsy's reply is soft, curious. "For not dying? Because I think it's pretty fucking marvelous that you're alive."

"No, my dear. For what I said to you before – before I left. I was so angry and thoughtless. I wanted to hurt you and I did. I knew your biggest vulnerability and used my words like bullets to make you feel as bad as I did." Harry takes a breath, finding the words he'd thought he'd lost. "I was a monster to you and you didn't deserve that. I've never been less than proud of you, and I should have known that you'd never consider the possibility of hurting your dog. I hope I can, someday, earn your forgiveness."

For some reason, Eggsy's face goes blurry and he blinks his remaining eye to clear his vision. It's only when Eggsy lifts a hand to Harry's face, his thumb wiping across his cheek, does Harry realize he's crying. 

Eggsy's crying, too. But he's smiling. "I said some pretty shitty things to you, too. I gave as good as I got. I'm sorry, too. More than words can say."

Harry shakes his head. "No, no – that's not how I remember it. I hurt you and you were just defending yourself."

Eggsy laughs, the sound bittersweet. "We gonna argue about this? Or will you accept my apology?"

Harry huffs out a laugh. "Of course."

"And I accept yours." Eggsy's smile seems to encompass his whole being, he's glowing with happiness. "Welcome home, Harry Hart." Eggsy wraps his arms around him and holds him tightly.

Harry doesn't hesitate to hug Eggsy, giving into all the skin hunger that's been riding him for years. It's not just the interim period, the time without his memories, that he's gone without physical affection, but for the years before that, when he'd been practically celibate and the few friends he'd had hadn't been the touchy-feely kind. He lets out a small sigh and buries his face in Eggsy's hair, whispering, "Thank you."

"No, Haz, thank you."

"For what?" Harry pulls back to look at Eggsy.

"For everything. You've given me everything. I'd be nothing without you."

Harry isn't sure what to say to that. Before Eggsy had called in his favor, his life had been on a sharp, downward trajectory. It would be a grossest of lies to tell the boy that he'd have made something of himself even without Kingsman. 

So Harry just contents himself with an "Oh, my dear boy" and is rewarded with another one of those beautiful, luminous smiles.

The sound of Merlin clearing his throat reminds Harry that they are not alone.

Eggsy ducks his head, but looks up at Harry from under his eyelashes and a charming blush colors his cheeks. Harry grateful that he's Eggsy's ally and not his mark, because he'd be absolutely gone over and done for the boy – giving him everything he asks for.

_No, he already is. Completely done. Thoroughly gone over. ___

__Eggsy steps back and the separation actually hurts Harry. "Forgive me for this, Haz?" Eggsy lifts his left arm._ _

__Harry knows just what's coming. "Of course, darling. Always."_ _

__The dart hits him in the neck, right under the jaw, and Harry thinks, as he goes down, that Eggsy looks very good wearing one of his ties._ _

____

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	3. The Lazarus Protocol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Harry doesn't deny it. "The Lazarus Protocol is supposed to be the most fearsome thing any Kingsman agent will experience at the hands of the agency. To be harshly interrogated by your peers, your friends and colleagues. To be treated as dirt by the people you respect. And you send in third-rate interrogators who have little interest in digging out the truth. Frankly, I'm a bit insulted." Harry sniffs, all peacocking pretense._

Harry wakes up in an unfamiliar bed, stripped to the skin. At least the sheets are soft and smell clean. The sky is pink and getting brighter by the minute. It's dawn and not sunset, so he's slept around the clock. His first thought is that Eggsy's knock-out dart must have been supplemented with something else. His second is that it's rather odd that they've put him he's in a real bedroom with unbarred windows – as if he's a guest and not a prisoner.

There's a small cart with cloche-covered dishes and a steaming carafe of what smells like Merlin's favorite Scottish Breakfast tea, which Harry had come to love, too. 

On the chair next to the cart are piles of clean smallclothes, enough for a week. Harry's grateful that he's not going to be stuck in the same garb for the duration. Perhaps this won't be as bad as he's been led to expect. There's also a suit bag hanging in front of the wardrobe, and below that, what looks like a pair of Harry's own favorite oxfords. He recognizes the wear pattern on the heel. 

Breakfast and the mystery of the clothing will have to wait for morning business and bathing. There's no way he's going to face a twelve hour debrief with the stink of a drugged sleep clinging to his skin.

To Harry's delight, his favorite bath products are arrayed on the counter, as well as his very own straight razor and monogrammed silver-backed hairbrush, ones he'd used the morning before disaster struck. That's another mystery, like the shoes. Didn't Merlin follow his instructions and give Eggsy his house? Did he simply pack all of Harry's personal items away and put them in storage, instead of disposing of them?

Harry's not at all surprised to find a favorite suit in the bag, an intimidating solid black double-breasted that Alastair once said made him look like either a duke of the realm or a highly priced paid companion, depending on the circumstances. It feels good to put on and Harry is pleased at how well he looks in it, although it'll needs a bit of tailoring to accommodate the changes to his body. 

Or perhaps his body needs a little tailoring.

He puts on the oxfords and taps his heels together. Of course, no knife emerges. Harry can't image that Merlin would have overlooked something like that.

As he knots his tie, Harry remembers thinking how lovely Eggsy had looked wearing Harry's own neckwear, a slightly flashy silver-gray affair with fine green stripes. He wonders, did _Eggsy_ keep his clothes? His personal grooming products?

If the answer is yes, the implication is stunning. What is Eggsy thinking? Why would he keep all of this?

But that's a question that will not be answered today. Today, Harry is the one who will be answering questions. 

He drinks the tea and eats the now-cold toast, once again struck by a nostalgic sense of Englishness. He can remember the subtle wrongness of breakfast in America, with the toast browned on both sides. 

Harry tries the door and it opens. There's someone – no one he recognizes – standing at attention in the hallway. She wishes him good morning and directs him to follow her.

The interrogation is about to start.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

For the third time in the last hour, Idiot-One asks, "Your name is Henry Reginald Hart? Otherwise known as Harry?"

Harry smiles and says, "Yes."

Idiot-Two asks him where he'd been born, his birth date and the names of his parents.

After Harry answers, Idiot-One goes back to his original line of questioning, about the church massacre. It's a standard interrogation technique, interrupt the narrative and try to pick up inconsistencies, throw the subject off his pace and break his rhythm. It's also a good way to annoy the subject and make him lose his temper and reveal something important. 

A technique that Harry's used any number of times over the past thirty years.

He walks the Idiot Twins through his memories of the massacre at the South Glade Mission Church, how he killed and assisted in killing over forty people.

"You don't seem to upset at what happened, Harry. All those people dead at your hands."

Harry shrugs. "No, I'm not. Not really." That is the truth.

"Why is that? Because they were bad people and deserved to die?"

"No, because they were dead the moment that Richmond Valentine decided to test out his genocide device on them. I regret that I had a hand in making that happen, but the outcome was already set in stone. Those people would have died even if I hadn't been there."

Idiot-One comments, "That's cold."

Harry shrugs, "No, simply pragmatic."

The questioning goes on; it's both textbook and scatter-shot, as if his interrogators are deliberately asking the wrong questions. They should be asking him about what happened afterwards, how he felt when Valentine killed him.

_Tried_ to kill him. That correction is very important.

But they don't. The Idiot Twins skip over that and ask him the basics again. And then questions about where he been, what he'd been doing, who he'd talked to. Standard interrogation and debriefing practice.

It goes on for hours, and Harry remains amused, in a thoroughly detached sort of way. Bored even. He's cooperating with the interrogation, but the Idiot Twins are simply doing a piss-poor job of trying to break through a tough outer shell to get to Harry's soft, gooey center. They don't seem to realize that the hard shell is gone and the soft gooey center has been exposed all along.

He smiles.

Idiot-One asks, "You're amused?"

"Yes." He doesn't elaborate.

"About what?"

"Your attempts to break me."

"Oh, we're not here to break you, Mr. Hart. Just need to ascertain what happened over the last two years." Idiot-Two mouths the party line.

"Your softball questions are very unsatisfying. "

"You want us to take out the whips and chains? Maybe break a few bones?" Idiot-One actually sounds appalled.

"That could be fun." In truth, Harry would prefer it if no bones are broken; he's not as young as he used to be and won't spring back so quickly from damage like that. "But not necessary. Just try a little harder not to be so boring. You haven't even gotten shouty at me, even though I'm cooperating. And what about playing good cop – bad cop? Where are your balls, for chrissake?" Harry leans back and feigns a yawn.

Idiot-One sighs and sticks with the script. Perhaps they are looking to break him with boredom. 

At the sixth hour, Harry does have something to confess. He needs to take a piss. "Any chance we could take a break? I'm an old man and my bladder is aching."

Idiot-Two nods. "Ten minutes." Idiot-One gets to watch him piss.

Back in the interrogation room, which is a fairly nice gentleman's study with decor that wouldn't be out of place in a Jane Austen novel, Idiot-Two is fumbling with an ancient reel-to-reel tape recorder. The telephones are old with rotary dials, neither idiot is wearing glasses and Harry doesn't think that they have any digital recording devices on them. Nor can he see any cameras in the room, but there is a large mirror along one interior wall – likely two-way for observation – and there's something that just might be a microphone embedded in the molding.

Merlin's not taking any chances. It's almost impossible to hack the analog technology he's forcing the idiots to use and Harry suspects that the telephones are not connected to the outside world. Whatever happens here stays here.

The debriefing goes on for another two hours as the Idiot Twins get greasy with sweat. Harry's passed boredom and wishes he could just kill the pair for the hell of it. That would be a bad idea, considering, so for shits and giggles, he takes off the eyepatch. It's rather amusing to see the Idiot Twins tried to hide their revulsion. Harry has to think that these guys are outside help because no Kingsman interrogator would be put off by a missing eye. 

Idiot-One stammers through the rote questions and Harry replies with as few words as possible, but his tone never varies from the pleasant and cultured diction he'd been raised with. 

Finally, they call it quits. "All right, let's call it a night."

The imp of mischief that had made Merlin go prematurely bald prods Harry to ask, "Are you sure? I haven't even cracked a sweat yet."

Idiot-Two shakes his head. "We're done."

Harry gets to his feet and he's feeling surprisingly creaky after sitting for so many hours. "The beta team coming in now?"

"No, we're all done for the day."

That puzzles Harry – these types of interrogations rely on stressing out the subject and long periods without sleep are all part of the game plan. But it's consistent with the kid-glove treatment he's been given so far. "Back here tomorrow, bright and early?"

"If that's what the boss says." Idiot-One puts his jacket on and Idiot-Two just looks disgusted. 

They leave him to the solitary splendor of the room and his rumbling stomach. Harry goes over to the mirror; at least it's framed in period-correct gilded and carved molding. He finds the embedded microphone and taps on it. 

"Merlin, feel like joining me for a bite to eat?" He's sure that Merlin's behind the glass; this debriefing is too important for the head of Kingsman not to observe, personally. 

There's no response and Harry wonders if Merlin had fallen asleep out of boredom. So he figures he might as well explore his domain, except the door is locked with a sturdy deadbolt. It's also fully mechanical and therefore pickable, but Harry doesn't have a set of picks or a bump key handy. He goes to check the desk to see if there's anything he can use to improvise, but sadly, there's not even a stray paperclip to help him with his task.

That would be too easy, and Harry wonders if this is a test – if Merlin wants to see if he's still capable of being a Kingsman.

He explores the room, looking for thin, sturdy wire. He rules out the telephone – it's old technology that's filled with soft copper wiring. He needs a few short lengths of flexible steel. 

Harry's eye lands on a rather hideous Victorian landscape, complete with an over-abundance of cows and cow-like milkmaids. He takes it off the wall, grimacing as he gets up close and personal with all of those dust-coated udders. Harry flips the painting around and smiles. The artwork is truly old and hanging from rather ancient picture wire – made from heavy strands of flexible steel cable. 

He'd employed this technique in '94, when a certain Spanish Marchese had locked him in her bedroom after using him as a sex toy. Harry hadn't minded the sex, but he had minded the woman's near-fascist politics. The wire he'd used had been taken off of a rather terrible Goya reproduction, from the same era as the pastoral he's currently debasing.

It's a matter of a few minutes' work to undo the wire and extract a few strands. They are a little flimsier that Harry would like, but he does appreciate a challenge.

It's delicate work, done mostly by feel and Harry's drenched with sweat by the time he's managed to get all the tumblers aligned. The difficulty will be in turning them – the wire is a poor substitute for the spring steel of a good pick. He holds his breath and slowly turns the top wire. It breaks in his hand and Harry mutters his favorite string of curses.

He pulls out the broken bit and starts over. The third time's the charm and Harry opens the door, only to be greeted by Merlin and one of his minions – the same woman who'd escorted him this morning. 

"Hello, Harry. I see ye haven't lost yer touch."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry gets up and brushes the dust off his trousers. "Well, isn't this awkward. Or have you been watching?"

"Of course I've been watching. That's my job." Merlin's lips twitch, as if he's trying not to smile. "I can let ye go roam the halls, or we can have a civilized meal like old friends." The scent of a well-cooked roast drifts by and Harry notices a cart with cloche-covered dishes.

"A meal sounds good. Your idiot interrogators didn't give me a lunch break."

Merlin gestures for the minion to push the cart into the room, and as the young woman leaves, he tells her to not to bother shutting the door.

Harry's pleased at that. They trust him not to escape. As if he would. He'd only run back to Kingsman and Eggsy.

Today, Merlin's not wearing a suit, but his familiar jumper with the gun patches on the shoulders, which puts Harry at ease. And also on his guard. Merlin might have been his best friend for almost three decades, but Harry knows that there's no one better at psychological game-playing that this man. He does nothing without purpose, thinking a dozen moves ahead.

It's a good thing that Chester never knew just how wily his quartermaster had been, he might have had him assassinated just as a precaution.

"What are ye thinking, Harry?"

Harry shares his thoughts and Merlin laughs. 

"God, I've missed ye, Harry Hart."

Harry sighs. "I wish I could say I've missed _you_ too, except I didn't remember you. But it truly is good to see you, Hamish."

"Ach, ye'r using my name, what did I tell ye about doing that?"

"That you'd gut me and use my innards for your Christmas haggis?"

Merlin snorts with laughter. "Aye, ye'r definitely Harry Hart."

"There was some doubt?"

Merlin gives a little head tilt, "Anything's possible."

"And the full body scan you undoubtedly did on me didn't answer that question? I have to suppose there had been a reason why you'd kept me under sedation for almost twenty-four hours."

"Nothing gets past you." 

"A lot of unimportant shit doesn't seem to escape my notice, but I have been known to miss the bigger picture a time or two. I've relied on your clear-sightedness to get me through the murkiness of the minutiae I get lost in."

Merlin nods. "That might be one of the finest compliments ye've ever paid me, Harry."

"It's well-deserved."

There's an awkwardness in this moment, which Merlin thankfully breaks as he goes to serve them their dinner. Harry's nose hadn't misled him; under the cloches is an Englishman's favorite dinner, rare roast beef, and a variety of rather nicely cooked vegetables. There's also a good, hearty Italian red wine to stand up to the richly flavored food. 

Harry eats and enjoys, the wine lending a very pleasant glow to the meal. "Ah, for the first real meal back in England, this was splendid. Thank you."

"There's pudding, but we'll save that for later."

Harry nods. "When we need to take a break from the real questioning, you mean."

"It was that obvious?" 

"I named them Idiot-One and Idiot-Two. Where do you get them, _Interrogators 'R Us_ down at the Westfield Mall?"

Merlin chuckles. "They're contractors; came with a recommendation from an acquaintance at MI-5."

"Figures." Harry finishes his wine. "But why the kid-glove treatment?"

Merlin pays him the compliment of not asking what Harry means. "Ye're really upset they didn't break out the whips and chains?"

"Not in the least, but they asked all the wrong questions and their technique was way too by-the-book. They didn't follow any of the breadcrumbs I laid out." Harry pouts. "I thought this would be more of a challenge."

Merlin's delighted and it shows. "Ye are pissed about it! Ye really were geared up for a hard interrogation, weren't ye?"

Harry doesn't deny it. "The Lazarus Protocol is supposed to be the most fearsome thing any Kingsman agent will experience at the hands of the agency. To be harshly interrogated by your peers, your friends and colleagues. To be treated as dirt by the people you respect. And you send in third-rate interrogators who seems to have little interest in digging out the truth. Frankly, I'm a bit insulted." Harry sniffs, all peacocking pretense. 

Merlin leans back in his chair, cupping his wine glass. The way his eyeglasses reflect the ruby liquid gives Merlin an otherworldly, almost devilish look. And he doesn't answer Harry's question about the kid-glove treatment, taking the conversation in an unexpected direction. "Ye've been unexpectedly patient, Harry."

"Oh?"

"Ye haven't asked me a single question – not about Valentine or what happened to him, not about Kingsman. Not about any of the agents. Is it because ye already know the answers?"

Harry shakes his head and prevaricates. "Not in the least – other than the most basic bits that are available to the general public; that Valentine had set off his signal but it didn't last long, and even still, the death toll had been horrifying. And as for Kingsman, I'm well aware that until you deem me uncompromised and fit for return, I won't get any answers."

"That's sounds remarkably patient and adult of ye, Harry. Not something I'm accustomed to hearing from ye."

"Thanks, old friend. I do appreciate your unvarnished honesty." 

"But I think ye're bullshitting me." Merlin's expression doesn't change.

Harry's not the least bit surprised that Merlin's seen through him, but he can play games, too. "Oh, why is that?"

Merlin sips his wine. "Tell me, Harry, why did ye really come back? Why didn't ye just disappear?"

Harry has an easy answer. "I'm a Kingsman, I have responsibilities. I wouldn't just walk away from that."

"Perhaps." 

"You don't believe me?"

"We both know that Harry Hart is a loyal Kingsman down to his bones and that there's very little that could possibly subvert ye. But the truth is that it's going to be a long hard road back to where you were. Two years is a long time to be out of the game. Ye'r missing an eye. Ye've got to be aware of the hurdles ye face, so why come back?"

Harry looks down at his hands. They're shaking, whether from his tremor or from emotion, it's hard to tell. "Being a Kingsman is all I know how to be, all I can be. Can you really see me leading a life of idle luxury?"

Merlin shrugs. "Maybe not, but what about the butterflies? Ye once told me that ye'd dreamed of being a lepidopterist, but yer father threatened to cut you out of the family over that career choice."

Actually, his father had done worse than that, but that isn't for Merlin to know. "Didn't you listen to the Idiot Twins' interrogation? I spend two years thinking I was a lepidopterist, or studying to be one."

"So, why not pick it up for real? Ye have the funds."

Of course Merlin knows about those hidden accounts – he'd help set them up. 

"Yer coming back doesn't make much sense, Harry. Yes, ye're a loyal Kingsman, ye take yer oaths seriously, but there's got to be another reason why ye came back. Why aren't ye trying to get answers to all the questions that ye have to have?"

Harry stares at Merlin, trying to read his old friend but keeping his own feelings hidden. He goes on the offensive. "Why don't you tell me what my motives are? Why do you think I came back?"

Merlin smiles and Harry realizes that he's just played into Merlin's hand. _Well, shit._

"I think ye had been so desperate for answers that ye were willing to go through the Lazarus Protocol and possible execution to get them."

Harry notes Merlin's use of the past tense, but doesn't comment. "And what were my questions?" 

Merlin doesn't answer immediately. He just keeps staring at Harry, reading everything that Harry's trying to hide. Finally, he says, "Eggsy. Ye came back for Eggsy. Ye were worried sick about what Chester might have done to the lad. I saw yer face when Eggsy arrived yesterday. Ye looked as if a mighty weight had just been lifted from yer back. Ye didn't just look relieved, ye looked like ye found that all yer prayers had been answered. Nothing else was of any importance."

Harry lets out a deep breath. "I was that obvious?"

"As plain as the nose on my face." Merlin sighs and shakes his head. "I probably should put ye out of yer misery."

Harry's confused. "Oh?"

"I know where ye've been, who has helped ye and watched over ye since the massacre." Merlin takes out Harry's passport – the one that Champ had provided. He drops it onto the table and a few other items fall out – the data keys and the Statesman business card.

_Statesman._

That had been the one thing that Harry had held back from the Idiot Twins, that knew who had helped him. He'd thought his prevarications had been obvious and it disturbed him that they'd never followed up on the holes he'd left uncovered. And so the lightbulb goes on. "You told the interrogators not to ask certain questions or follow through on certain areas, didn't you? You didn't want them to ask me about Statesman?"

Merlin nods. "Aye. Statesman is completely unknown to the British 'intelligence' community. The idiots think this is another internal assignment and know enough to keep their mouths shut, but I don't trust that they'll keep quiet about an independent American intelligence organization."

"So, you've met them? The Statesman team?"

"No, I've only spoken with Champ – their Arthur."

Harry nods, seeing the pieces fall into place. "And he never mentioned that he had an amnesiac spy in his sub-basement?"

"No, he hadn't. It's not like we've been in regular communication, or I really knew anything about them. In fact, we'd only spoke once, right after I was made Arthur. I hate to say, but that call didn't go too well. Knowledge of the Statesman organization is Arthur-level restricted information and Chester went out of his way to fuck up the relationship. When I found their card in your pocket, I called Champ immediately and he was a bit more forthcoming than the first time we'd talked. He told me he was glad ye found yer way home. When I'd asked him why he'd never reached out to us about ye, he said he'd never even considered it. He despised Chester and hadn't gotten any warm fuzzies from me. To him, Kingsman is a bunch of arrogant, classist pricks and in yer amnesiac state, he thought we'd likely decide to eliminate ye instead of helping ye get better. I think he was rather fond of ye."

"I don't know about the last, I only met him after I got my memories back. But if Chester had still been Arthur, it's quite likely that Champ's assumptions would have been accurate. And I do have to say that when Alastair let it slip that Chester was gone, I had a bad moment thinking that I'd be facing an outsider." Harry reaches for the wine bottle, and to his embarrassment, misses it completely, and his hand is visibly shaking. It's not just the tremor or the depth perception problems, but that this is the first alcohol his had since Valentine nearly killed him. How odd to get drunk on less than two glasses of wine.

Merlin doesn't say anything about Harry's goof as he splits the rest the bottle between them.

"Will ye tell me about the Statesman operation?"

Harry doesn't hesitate. "Of course. But mind you, I never really saw much of it or had interaction with a lot of people." 

"Just tell me what ye know, what ye saw."

Harry does just that, and there's something really rather comforting about giving a debriefing to Merlin. They fall into an easy rhythm, Merlin asking the questions and Harry giving answers the best he can. Merlin exploits Harry's ability to see the minutiae, picking apart details of what he'd observed to put together a bigger picture.

At one point, when Merlin is writing out his notes, Harry sighs. 

"What's the matter?"

"How the hell did I miss that grenade?" 

Merlin doesn't even look up. "Ye told Lee to pat the man down – _he_ was the one who actually missed it. Ye trusted Lee to do the job."

"I still should have seen it. Lee was a trainee, he didn't have experience."

Now Merlin gives Harry his full attention. "Lee Unwin had been a member of the Royal Marines Military Police; he fucking damn well had the experience. Ye've been carrying that guilt for almost twenty years. Isn't it time ye let it go?"

"Eggsy grew up without a father because I didn't do my job, do you think I have any right to let it go?" Harry's worn this hair shirt for so long, he'd feel naked without it.

"If ye want something to feel guilty over, then feel guilty about walking away from Eggsy and his mother for seventeen years. If ye really cared about them, ye would have kept an eye out for them."

Merlin's trying to push his buttons, but Harry's almost immune to that argument. While he had reasons for never following up, he's loathed his own neglectful behavior for so long, it feels natural. "You don't think I don't know that? That I didn't give a fuck until it was almost too late? That it's been easier to feel guilty than to actually care?" Harry's tone is conversational, but he's sure that Merlin can read the emotions behind the words.

Merlin sighs and caps his pen. "Is that why ye were so set on coming back? To make sure ye didn't fail Eggsy again?" 

Harry nods, because it's partially true. "I owe him so much; my debt can never be repaid." 

"Yer debt's to Lee, not Eggsy."

"I can't make that distinction anymore." And there's so much more to what Harry feels, so much he doesn't even want to admit it to himself.

"Bringing him into Kingsman, leaving him your house and your fortune, securing a future for him, that's not enough?"

"It's a start, Merlin." 

"And truly, that's the only reason ye rushed back to London?"

"What do you mean?" Harry thought he'd already explained this.

"Guilt. Is that the only reason why ye came back? Guilt for ignoring the lad's existence when he'd needed ye? Guilt for Lee's mistake? Or is there something more?"

Harry has an easy answer to that; it's not a lie, but it's not the whole truth, either.. "You're right, of course. It's not just guilt. I was very worried about Eggsy's fate after the last test. Chester wanted Eggsy destroyed, his mind wiped. You know how terrible the long-term amnesia drugs are. Eggsy would have ended up psychotic, a danger to himself, to everyone around him. I don't know what's more horrifying, the thought of Eggsy wandering the streets, unable to care for himself, or Chester locking him up like a rabid dog." 

Merlin gives Harry a hard stare. "For the record, Harry, I would never have let that happen. I would have made sure Eggsy was safe."

Harry nods, accepting the truth of that. "You always did have a soft spot for him during the training."

"It's not just that. I've done some pretty terrible things for Kingsman in the name of Queen and Country and I've not let it disturb my sleep. But letting Kingsman destroy someone out of petty spite is not a sin I'd ever want on my conscience."

Harry feels an unaccustomed flush of shame. "I'm sorry for insinuating that you'd let it happen, even if you didn't care for the boy."

Merlin tips his head in acceptance of Harry's apology. "Aren't ye interested in what happened after ye 'died'?" Merlin does the unthinkable and makes air quotes around that last word. "Like what happened to Chester, how Eggsy ended up as a Kingsman? How we stopped Valentine? Or does knowing that Eggsy's safe and sound means nothing else matters?"

"I didn't think I had the right to that knowledge." Harry is disciplined enough not to ask for information that he's not supposed to know. But once he's cleared of the Lazarus Protocol, he'll be demanding answers to all of his questions

"Under ordinary circumstances, no. Ye'r right, no one returning from the dead after two years is entitled to any information about the doings of Kingsman. But I spoke with Champ, he's sent me yer files. I'm not ready to clear ye a hundred percent, but I'm highly confident that ye haven't been compromised."

Harry sends a small prayer of thanks to a god he hasn't believed in since childhood. "Then, may I have the answers?"

Merlin laughs, "So fucking polite, Harry Hart. Butter wouldn't melt in yer mouth."

"You plan on tormenting me, after all?"

Merlin gets up, stretches and groans. "I think this story requires some scotch and a decent pudding." He lifts the last cloche. "Ah, lemon drizzle cake – I'm pretty certain this had been one of the signature challenges on last year's Bake Off." Merlin gives Harry an arch look. "I guess you probably don't know this, but Mary Berry, Mel and Susan left Bake-Off when the show moved off of BBC."

Harry blinks. "That is a rather unexpected non-sequitur. And I'm sorry to hear it."

"Yeah, Paul Hollywood stayed, greedy twat that he is." Merlin hands him a plate with a rather generous slice. "And I think the MacDuff 2004 will go with it."

Harry's not so sure that any scotch – even a mid-grade single malt – will pair well with a sweet cake. The cake is good, and Harry leaves the glass untouched, at least for the moment. He wants a clear head. Or at least a relatively clear one, since he's still enjoying the buzz from the wine.

Merlin notices, of course, and smirks. "Hmmm, where should I begin?"

Harry wants to know about Eggsy first and foremost, but he's afraid that they'll end up down another rabbit hole filled with guilt and justification, with Harry doing his best to avoid getting backed into a corner and admitting his real feelings. "What about with Chester?"

"Ah, yes. That's a good point to start." Merlin savors a forkful of cake. "Did you deliberately leave the feed from your glasses accessible on your home laptop when you left for Kentucky or was that an accident?"

Harry goes cold. "Eggsy saw me kill all those people? He saw what happened in the church, what happened afterwards?"

"Aye, he saw everything."

Harry covers his mouth with his hand and swallows against the rising bile. He'd been honest when he'd told the Idiot Twins that he hadn't been overly traumatized by what had happened, but knowing that Eggsy saw him, saw the brutality he's capable of, shakes that certainty. 

"I don't think Eggsy gives a damn about what happened _inside_ the church. He knows ye're a fucking badass, and more importantly, he knows ye weren't responsible for yer actions. What wrecked the lad is that he saw Valentine shoot ye. He thought he watched ye die."

Harry's going to have to unpack all of these terrible feelings at another time. He can't do it here, with Merlin as his therapist. "What does this have to do with Chester?"

Merlin's smile is a bit terrifying. "The old git called Eggsy back to the shop afterwards, wanted to turn the knife, defy tradition and have him raise a glass to the late, great Galahad. And offer him a position in the new world that Valentine was going to make. Do you know what the lad told Chester?"

Harry shakes his head. "I can't even begin to imagine." Sadly, though, he can easily imagine Chester accepting Valentine's proposition of a worldwide cleansing, as long as all the right people survived.

"He said he'd rather be with you." Merlin drops that like a bomb. "His exact words to Chester were 'I'd rather be with Harry'."

Harry closes his eye and tries not to make too much of it, but it's hard to deny the joy. Eggsy was willing to die for him, despite the disaster of their parting. "What did Chester say to that?"

"He'd picked up a pen, told Eggsy about the poison and then pressed the switch. The little shit had switched the glasses and Chester poisoned himself."

Harry looks at the glass he'd been avoiding and finally picks it up. "Bravo, Eggsy, bravo!" He takes a sip. This isn't the end of the story; Merlin's just dragging it out. "And then?"

"Yer lad used the pen to cut one of Valentine's chips out of Chester's neck and came looking for me. He'd also snatched Chester's phone – which was how we knew where Valentine was hiding out and plotting the end of the world."

Harry whispers into his glass, "Well done, my clever, clever boy." 

"Ye're going to be insufferable about Eggsy, aren't ye?"

"Why shouldn't I be? He's brilliant." Harry can see a lovely future where he basks in second-hand glory over Eggsy's achievements. Isn't that the right of all mentors?

"Ye don't know the half of it."

"Can you tell me the rest?"

Merlin does, in grand Technicolor detail, how Eggsy put on the Kingsman suit Harry had made for him, pretended to be Chester, and saved the whole world. "I've got a rather lovely montage of Eggsy's fight. The lad might lack your peacocking moves, but he's a brutal fighter who doesn't seem to have an ounce of fear in him."

Harry sighs, and now envisions a future where he's going to worry about Eggsy every time he leaves for a mission. "He's reckless?"

"Let's just say, he's the embodiment of his predecessor." 

Maybe it's the drink, or exhaustion, or perhaps Harry's lost a bit of his mental edge, because he's not quite putting things together. "Merlin?"

His old friend's smile is pure evil. "Don't tell me that ye haven't figured it out yet?"

And then Harry does. "He's Galahad?"

"Of course. He argued a bit, thinking that he'd never be able to fill yer shoes, but in the end, I convinced him that you'd be so proud of him, that ye'd want no one else in yer seat."

"You're right, Merlin, on both counts." Harry sighs and lets a very peculiar kind of happiness sink into his bones.

They don't talk for a while; Merlin's gone back to making notes the old fashioned way – with pen and paper – and the sound is wonderfully soothing. Harry just luxuriates in his happiness. He has his memories, he's home, the people he cares most about are safe. What more could a man want? 

"I'm never going to be a field agent again."

"Hmm?" Merlin's still writing.

"You heard me."

Merlin looks up. "Are you telling me or asking me?"

Harry thinks for a moment. "I'm telling you."

"A wise man knows his limitations."

Harry chuckles. "A wise man. Huh. I'd never thought I'd hear you call me that."

Merlin rephrases, "How about, _a gentleman_ knows his limitations?" 

"I think the rest of that phrase is, 'and usually ignores them'."

"Fair enough, and enough of falling down an epigrammatic rabbit hole. The point is, I think that ye've made a good decision. There've been agents with missing body parts, but not recently – not in an age when someone can take yer picture and send it around the world without effort."

"Would you have accommodated me if I'd insisted on remaining in the field?"

Merlin doesn't give him an answer, so Harry adds, "Provided you're certain I haven't been compromised and I could be fit for active status again."

"Yes, we'd find a seat at the table for ye. But even if ye never pick up a gun again or go out into the field, ye'll always be needed here. It's been hard on Kingsman without ye, Harry. Not just for yer prowess in the field. Ye know people, ye have contacts where no one's ever had contacts. When we lost ye, we lost almost thirty years of irreplaceable assets."

That is something Harry hadn't even thought about. "So I'd still have value?"

"Hell, yes." Merlin looks at him over the edge of his glasses. "Tell me, Harry, what would ye like to do, now? Where do ye think ye'll fit in at Kingsman?" 

Harry blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. "I think I'd be excellent at picking out puppies for the candidates, but that's not a full time job."

They both laugh and Merlin says, "Merrick the kennel master isn't anywhere close to retirement age and he already has a successor lined up. What else interests ye?"

"I know what I don't want, Merlin."

"Oh?"

"I don't want to work as a handler."

"Not even Eggsy's?"

That sounds way too tempting, but as Harry just said, he knows his limitations. "I think I'd be a disaster. A handler's supposed to be someone who'll restrain an agent's chaotic behavior. Do you think I can do that?"

"No, I think ye'll bring out the worst instincts in yer charges. 'Yes, Eggsy, you _can_ blow up the building, just follow my instructions to the letter'." Merlin's voice takes on the crisp tones of an English gentleman, mimicking Harry's Received Pronunciation.

"Ouch."

"Yes, 'ouch' is the right word." Merlin caps his pen, a sign that he's done for the night. "So, not a handler. What else interests you?"

Harry hadn't given his future in Kingsman much thought, his goal was finding Eggsy and surviving the Lazarus Protocol. A thought pops into his head, one that seems extremely appealing. "Training. I think I'd be very good at that."

Merlin seems to consider Harry's idea. "I think ye'd be good at that, too. We're not just training agents, but all kinds of field personnel. Having a former agent, especially one of yer stature and experience, would be a boon."

"So, you'll hire me as a trainer?"

"Aye, I'd hire ye to head that up. And ye can have the leftover puppies for the privilege."

Harry feels very satisfied with his life, as a fourth leg – a new and fulfilling career – is added to the scaffolding of his happiness. "Thank you, my friend. For everything."

"Don't thank me just yet. Ye've got a ways to go before ye're back in the saddle."

Harry understands. "So, what's next in this rather ingenuous version of the Lazarus Protocol?" The words come out with a yawn. "Sorry, it's been a long day."

"Then we'll continue the discussion tomorrow." Merlin gets up, stretches and offers Harry his hand, pulling him upright. "This feels very familiar."

Harry agrees. "Too many nights spent drinking and trying to solve all the world's problems."

"We never will, ye know. Solve them."

"I know." Harry sighs, "And we'll all likely die trying."

"Not if I can help it." Merlin does the unexpected and pulls Harry into a tight hug. "I really have missed ye, Harry. Welcome home."

Harry returns the hug, his happiness brimming into tears.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	4. Galahad, Sixth of His Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Good morning, Galahad." Harry takes immense pleasure in calling Eggsy by that codename. 
> 
> Eggsy rears back, as if he's been slapped. "No, no – you're Galahad." He looks over his shoulder at Merlin, who's very deliberately buried his face in a copy of The Times. "Isn't he?"
> 
> Harry answers, "Not anymore. From what little Merlin's been able to tell me, you've earned your place and then some."
> 
> To Harry's increasing delight, Eggsy ducks his chin and blushes as he demurs, "Well, it's a group effort. No Kingsman agent survives without his team."
> 
> "While a gentleman's supposed to be modest about his accomplishments, I do believe that killing that twat, Chester, and figuring out that he was in on Valentine's plot, was your own brilliance."
> 
> Eggsy nods. "But you're back, Harry. Galahad is _your_ title."
> 
> "It's a codename, not a title, and while I may be back, it's not going to be the same. I'm never going to be fit for field work again."

Harry sleeps the sleep of the righteous and he wakes as the early morning sun pierces through the curtains and hits his face like a laser. He scrubs the sleep out of his good eye and realizes that he'd left his eyepatch in the library last night. He'd never put it back on after freaking out the Idiot Twins, and Merlin had never mentioned that he hadn't been wearing it, nor had he even reacted to the dark, empty hole where his eye used to be.

But then, Merlin is a friend.

Unlike yesterday, there's no tea or breakfast waiting for him in his room, so he showers and dresses and heads back to the study where he'd been interrogated yesterday, but Harry's diverted from that destination by Merlin's young minion. She's is waiting for him at the base of the staircase. 

"I think you might want this, sir." She hands him his eyepatch and asks him to follow her, taking him to a warm, sunlit breakfast room. 

Merlin's there, and to Harry's utter delight, so is Eggsy.

Both men look up at his entrance and Eggsy gets to his feet, crossing the room to greet him. Harry meets him halfway, undoubtedly grinning like an idiot and drinks in the sight of his boy. If he thought Eggsy had looked good yesterday, he seems even more perfect today.

"Good morning, Galahad." Harry takes immense pleasure in calling Eggsy by that codename. 

Eggsy rears back, as if he's been slapped. "No, no – you're Galahad." He looks over his shoulder at Merlin, who's very deliberately buried his face in a copy of The Times. "Isn't he?"

Harry answers, "Not anymore. From what little Merlin's been able to tell me, you've earned your place and then some."

To Harry's increasing delight, Eggsy ducks his chin and blushes as he demurs, "Well, it's a group effort. No Kingsman agent survives without his team."

"While a gentleman's supposed to be modest about his accomplishments, I do believe that killing that twat, Chester, and figuring out that he was in on Valentine's plot, was your own brilliance."

Eggsy nods. "But you're back, Harry. Galahad is _your_ title."

"It's a codename, not a title, and while I may be back, it's not going to be the same. I'm never going to be fit for field work again."

Eggsy turns and stalks back towards Merlin, all ruffled feathers and righteous anger. "You're putting him out to pasture? He's the greatest agent in Kingsman's history and you're just letting him go to the glue factory like some knackered old horse?" The boy's eyes narrow and he leads with his chin, all fight and fury. Despite the modern attire, Eggsy could have stepped off one of the Greek vases in the British Museum. 

Merlin looks over at Harry and smirks before answering Eggsy, "Ye have a complaint about me, ye know what to do."

"Fuck off, _Arthur_." Eggsy looks as if he wants to punch Merlin and Harry's about ready to intervene. No matter how good Eggsy might be (and Harry has no doubts that Eggsy's an utterly brilliant fighter), Merlin has always been vicious with his fists.

But his intervention isn't necessary. Merlin puts down the newspaper and sighs. "It's good to see your loyalty, lad, but dial the anger back. It's misplaced and unnecessary." 

Merlin's words seem to take and Eggsy's gaze goes from Merlin to Harry and back to Merlin again. "You're not putting him out?"

Harry smiles. "It's my decision, Eggsy, not Merlin's. One I made with a clear head and a sound mind. The reality is that I'm never going to be fit for field duty again." To prove his point, Harry goes over to the buffet and pours himself some tea, the pot rattling as he missing the cup completely. "My hands shake, my depth perception is shit."

"But there's all kind of eye training for that? Physical therapy? Ain't there?" Eggsy looks at Merlin. 

Harry doesn't wait for Merlin's response. "And there's also a matter of desire." That last word lingers in the air like an expensive perfume. "It's not just the eye, or the tremor that comes and goes. I find that I'm more than satisfied with the work I've done as Galahad, and I'm eager to see my very worthy successor in action – "

Merlin clears his throat, cutting Harry off.

Harry adds, slightly annoyed at this constant caveat. "Provided that I'm deemed fit to have such information."

For a moment, Eggsy looks like he wants to explode in anger again, but he just nods. "And how is that going?"

"Rather well, actually." Merlin says without a glance at Harry. "That's why you're here, lad. And will both of ye sit down and stop looming over me like harbingers of doom."

Eggsy, rather unbelievably, waits for Harry to take a seat before sitting down. It seems someone apparently has made some etiquette lessons stick.

Merlin, however, is being a rude bugger and lets the silence draw thin, like a wire under tension. He finishes his tea, folds his napkin, folds the newspaper, brushes some non-existent crumbs off his jumper and gives the both of them a hard stare. 

A part of Harry delights in seeing his old friend take charge of a room without a single word, but most of him feels like a schoolboy called to the headmaster's office to account for his misdeeds. Next to him, Eggsy's practically vibrating, like a hound at end of a leash, straining to get to his quarry.

"So." Merlin's single word doesn't break the tension. "I find myself faced with an interesting problem. A delightful one, to be honest, but still a problem. I'm fairly certain, Harry, that ye haven't been compromised during yer sojourn. But fairly certain isn't one-hundred percent, and I need that one-hundred percent before I'm willing to let ye take up yer new duties in Kingsman."

Harry quips, "The only things that one can be certain of are death and taxes."

That earns him a burst of laughter from both Eggsy and Merlin and it takes a moment to realize what he'd just said. "Okay, taxes. That's a certainty none of us can deny."

Eggsy rolls his eyes and Merlin shakes his head. "As I was saying, I need to be absolutely certain that there's nothing hidden in that hindbrain of yours that could compromise Kingsman."

"You really think that – " Harry cuts himself off. Eggsy doesn't know where he's been and Merlin had been clear that the Statesman organization is Arthur-level confidential. "The good Samaritans who'd helped me wouldn't have planted something?"

Eggsy must have noticed Harry's slip, but he doesn't say anything. _Good boy._

Merlin's lips twitch, but he just says, "It's better to be safe than sorry. That's why I've asked Eggsy to join us this morning."

Eggsy's appalled. "I'm to interrogate Harry? No fucking way, mate. Not happening. You can't ask me to do shit like that to Harry. You know that – you know what I'm capable of."

Harry feels like he's just swallowed a whole kaleidoscope of butterflies. It had been one thing to hear Merlin describe Eggsy's partisanship last night, it's another to experience it firsthand.

Merlin just stares at Eggsy over his glasses. "That's two, lad."

But Eggsy doesn't back down. "You'll have to fire me, then. Won't do it."

Harry's not sure why Eggsy's reacting like this – it seems that there's something more than loyalty and respect that Eggsy has for him, which would certainly taint an interrogation. Before he has a chance to inquire, Merlin shuts the whole thing down. 

"Eggsy, when did ye hear me say ye are to interrogate Harry?"

Eggsy doesn't answer.

"Harry, did ye hear me tell Eggsy he's to interrogate ye?"

"No." Harry reaches out and captures Eggsy's trembling hand. "And I'm sure it'll be fine if you have to. I'm cooperating and if there's something wrong, something that needs to be uncovered, well – I'd rather it be you that weeds it out instead of some moronic stranger."

Eggsy just stares at the table. Merlin just stares at Eggsy and Harry doesn't really know where to look.

"Eggsy, ye're not interrogating Harry. That part of the Lazarus Protocol is done." Now Merlin's looking at Harry. "There's still an observational period that needs to be completed. But if Galahad can't be arsed to stop acting like a stroppy teenager, I'll need to find someone else to do what I need done."

Eggsy pulls his hand away and sits up, chin held high. "Sorry, sir. It's just …"

Merlin's expression softens, "The thought of using those skills on someone ye care about? I would have hoped ye know me better than to think I'd ask ye to do that."

Eggsy blinks and Harry has the oddest notion that the boy's about to burst into tears. He still doesn't know what would cause such a reaction.

Merlin is all business when he asks, "Well, now that we've clarified everything, are ye ready to hear what I need from ye?"

"Yes, sir." Eggsy is thoroughly subdued.

Harry keeps himself stock still, that quiet _yes, sir_ feels like a kiss, even though it isn't directed at him.

"The Lazarus Protocol requires a lengthy observation period for any returning agent, once the medical and debriefing portions have been completed. How that observation period is conducted is left up to Arthur. And I think the best way to conclusively determine if Harry has been compromised is for the two of ye to live together, under observation, for the next two to three months."

Harry blinks. Has he heard Merlin correctly? Is Eggsy to move in here? That would be rather delightful. But apparently, Merlin has other ideas.

"This means, Galahad, that Harry will move in with ye and ye'll be off of mission rotation until further notice."

Eggsy's mouth drops open, much like it had when Harry had shown him the room behind Fitting Room Three, like he's just seen paradise.

"It also means a complete and utter lack of privacy. Ye'll have yer glasses on and transmitting all the time, except when yer sleeping. Yer house will be fitted with cameras to capture every angle in every room, including the bogs and yer bedrooms. Harry won't be under house arrest, but he goes nowhere without ye, and that means, when ye go out and Harry has to take a piss, ye're with him. The only time that ye'r not with Harry outside yer house is when he's attending mandatory psychiatric sessions – which will be recorded. Ye will accompany him to physical therapy and training – and ye may participate in that as much as ye want."

Harry feels kind of faint. He's to be with Eggsy twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week for an indeterminate period of time. It feels like a gift.

"Ye all right with this, Galahad?"

Eggsy nods. "Fuck, yeah. Yes – but it's Harry's house so shouldn't you be asking him if it's all right that I'm to stay there?"

Merlin gets the oddest expression on his face. "Lad, the house is yers."

Harry confirms that. "Absolutely – I left it to you. I wanted you to have it."

"But that's only because you were dead." Eggsy's frowning and Harry has to resist the urge to smooth away the deep V between his brows. "You're not dead so I've got to give it back."

"Eggsy, that not how a will works. Once my will is probated – " Harry's about to go into all the legal ramifications, but Eggsy stops him with one word.

"Will?"

Harry looks over at Merlin, who's doing his best not to look at anyone. "Merlin, what's going on? You were my executor. Tell me you followed my instructions."

"I did, sort of."

"What do you mean, _sort of?_ "

Merlin pulls off his glasses and scrubs at his face. "Ye have to understand the chaos after V-Day; that everyone needed to stay focused. Eggsy was grieving hard for ye, but he was getting the job done. Telling him that ye actually made a will and left him everything seemed like a huge distraction, more than he could handle. But I've done as ye instructed. Everything's been transferred over to Eggsy, all the deeds and accounts are in his name, all the paperwork's handled, Inland Revenue gets its share. It's just that Eggsy might not know the specifics."

Harry takes a deep, measured breath, for the first time since his memory returned, he's blazingly angry. "Merlin, sometimes you're too fucking Machiavellian for words. Of all the shitty things to do." There's a tirade building, but Eggsy's hand on his arm defuses the anger.

"Harry, it's all right. Merlin did the right thing. I think if I knew that it wasn't some casual instruction, I might have started spiraling. But it's all irrelevant, you're alive, so everything goes back to you."

Harry shakes his head. "That's not how it works, Eggsy. My will has been probated; all my rights have been legally terminated. It's yours. The house, the other properties, the money, everything."

Eggsy opens his mouth to protest.

"No backsies, my boy. This is what I want."

Eggsy's not giving up so easily. "But what will you live on? You've got to let me give you your money back." Eggsy runs a hand through his hair. "Christ, I didn't even know about the money. I thought – " He shakes his head. "Don't know what I thought. Maybe it was a Kingsman arrangement? Like getting a house for Mum and Daisy?"

Harry reassures Eggsy, telling him, "I'll be fine. There are accounts that weren't covered by my estate and I have more than enough to live on in comfort for decades to come. And as for finding a place to live, well – we've got some time. If you're on board with Arthur's plan – " This is the first time Harry's referred to Merlin as Arthur. "I'll be your houseguest for the foreseeable future."

Eggsy's again looking at him like he's been given a glimpse of paradise, or perhaps Harry's simply projecting his own feelings onto the boy.

"Are you really okay with this, Haz?"

Harry nods, not even minding the dreadful nickname. "I think it's a perfectly sound plan." _Sound plan_ , well, that's certainly underselling it.

"Thank ye, Eggsy for agreeing to this. It'll make things a lot smoother." Merlin gets up. "I'll have the tech department start getting the cameras in place, and ye can drive Harry back to London yerself. I've got to get back to HQ, the place doesn't run itself."

Merlin actually sweeps out of the room, as dramatic as any stage diva, leaving Harry and Eggsy alone.

Eggsy takes their cups back to the sideboard and refills them, fixing Harry's tea just as he likes – a splash of cream, a half-teaspoon of sugar. Harry is surprised to see Eggsy drinking his black and unsweetened – when they'd shared breakfast during their twenty-four hours, Eggsy had dumped three spoonfuls of sugar into milky water. Eggsy notices his noticing, and comments, "I've spent a lot of time in places that don't have milk or sugar and I've taught myself to enjoy it this way."

"Adaptation is an essential skill for a Kingsman."

Eggsy smiles into his teacup. "That was one of the first things you told me. 'If you're prepared to adapt and learn, you can transform'. That night at the tailor shop after you stopped Dean from chopping me to bits."

It's like a kick in the stomach, how Eggsy seems to remember every detail of their interactions. But all Harry says is, "You'd likened it to 'My Fair Lady'."

"And you were surprised by that."

"Well, you didn't know about 'Pretty Woman' or 'Trading Places'."

"Or 'Nikita'. And by the way, the movies were good, liked the first television series, but the second one was kind of shite." Eggsy tilts his head and looks at Harry, "But you know, it's kind of fitting, too."

Harry's not sure what Eggsy means. "I have to confess, I'd only seen the original movie and a few episodes of the original series when it first aired. I didn't know that the television series had been remade."

"Nikita comes back after a few years in hiding to bring down the organization that created her."

A shiver crawls down Harry's spine. "Somehow, I don't think the situation's comparable." 

"Nah, of course not. You love Kingsman more than anything."

Once, that had been true. Now, Harry's not so sure about that. He just might love something more, now.

Eggsy's oblivious to Harry's dilemma. "Well, we're going to be spending a lot of time together, so maybe we can watch and laugh at how ridiculous it is."

"Sounds good."

Eggsy's looking at him and smiling.

"What? Do I have something on my nose?" Harry brushes at it.

"Nah, just can't really believe I'm sitting here, drinking tea and talking about watching the telly with you. It feels like a bit of a dream." Eggsy blinks and bites his lip. "A really good dream. The best kind of dream."

"I am so sorry about how I left things, Eggsy. How I …" Harry grimaces, trying to hide the rush of emotion. "You didn't deserve that. Any of it."

"It's all right, Harry. It's over and done with." 

Eggsy's words are easy, but Harry sees the boy's hands shaking a bit. _No, not over, not done with. But we'll have time to heal, now._

"Can you tell me where you were? What happened after that prick Valentine shot you? Or is that still classified?"

"Some of it is, but I can tell you the basics." After all, Harry doesn't see any reason to keep Eggsy in the dark about his amnesia. "Until ten days ago, I had no idea who or what I was."

Eggsy gives him a look that reminds Harry of a raptor contemplating a mouse. "What – you lost your memory?"

Harry nods. "I knew my name, but I thought I was about twenty years old, and that I was a lepidopterist." He waits for Eggsy's chuckle, but it doesn't come.

"That explains the butterflies everywhere in your house."

"Your house," Harry automatically corrects and adds, "It had been an interest of mine, but not something I could have made a career of." His father had seen to that.

"Must have been strange, thinking you were a sprout and looking in the mirror."

"Strange is the word for it. I don't remember a lot – the old memories have pushed out the new ones – but I do remember being horrified every time I looked in the mirror."

Eggsy chuckles. "I'd be, too. Like something out of a science fiction movie. But you're all right now?"

"I seem to be."

"Would it be a stretch to say that Merlin knows the people who took care of you when you didn't have your memories?"

Harry shouldn't be so delighted that Eggsy's put the pieces together. "No, not a stretch and that's something that we can't discuss."

Eggsy nods, as Harry confirms his thinking.

"Can I ask how you figured that out?"

"About six months ago, Bors went missing for three weeks. Just fell off the grid, no warning, no explanation. He came back and was really puzzled why everyone was so pissed off, claimed that he'd gone on a holiday – trekking to the North Pole in Canada. Didn't anyone get his vacation request? Merlin put him through hell. His 'debriefing' lasted almost a week and he hasn't been given a solo mission since. And it was proven pretty conclusively that there'd been a glitch in the time-management system – that he'd requested the time off, but it hadn't been properly recorded or passed through proper channels. You come back after two years, after Merlin and I saw you die, and your debrief lasts a day? Your medical exam is done in just a few hours? Merlin's turning you over to me within forty-eight hours after your reappearance? That he knows where you've been and who you've been with is the only explanation that makes sense."

Harry's both appalled at what happened to Bors and delighted at how easily Eggsy put the pieces together. "Is Bors all right?"

"Yeah, he's good. Some lingering trauma – he still won't go to Medical without a direct order. I think they did anal probes." Eggsy snorts in amusement. "We've worked together a bit. Man loves his cold weather, though. He's first in line for any assignment where there's ice and snow."

"And Merlin's not punishing him by sending him to Brazil, is he?"

"Nah – it wasn't Bors' fault there was a software glitch. But protocol still has to be followed and when Merlin's only paying lip service in your case, I have to think there's a really good reason."

Harry doesn't say anything and thankfully, Eggsy drops the subject. "Want to get going? It's about two hours back to London and I've got a company car."

Which means that it's about an hour to HQ. "One of the cabs?"

Eggsy laughs. "Not at all. Merlin told me I could take what I wanted, just get here as fast as I can."

Harry has to imagine that Eggsy felt like he'd been given free access to the candy store. "One of the Lambos?" 

"Nah, too flashy, and those wing doors are a royal pain in the arse. Took a Merc AMG GT, fully kitted out. My go-to car when I get to drive for a mission. Made it here in forty minutes, flat."

Of course, Eggsy's a speed demon. "You could buy one for yourself, you know. A whole fleet of them. One in every colour."

Eggsy flushes, clearly ill at ease at the reminder of the money he'd inherited. "Nah – why pay for something I can get for free. Besides, you know what a bitch parking that thing would be at the Mews?"

"Yes, Eggsy, actually I do."

The boy laughs, his happiness infectious. "So, do you wanna head out?"

"Certainly – just need to get my things." Harry holds off on asking Eggsy if he'd been the one to save the clothing and his grooming kit. Those questions can wait.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry doesn't know whether to be terrified or aroused by Eggsy's driving. He's utterly competent behind the wheel, pushing the sports car to its fullest potential, exceeding speed limits with absolute impunity. And the thing is, Eggsy's not driving recklessly, he's not tailgating other cars or drafting lorries, he's just going _fast_ , and Harry tells himself that the half-mast boner he's got is from the engine vibrations.

He keeps the conversation to a minimum, half afraid that he'll distract the boy and they'll crash. Which is rather moronic, but there it is. They by-pass Oxford and finally Eggsy gears down and it feels like they've dropped out of warp drive or light speed or whatever the latest science fiction term is.

"You okay, Haz?" Eggsy glances over at him. "Seem a little green 'round the gills."

"I'm fine." Harry's aroused, not nauseous. 

"You sure? I didn't think about it until now, but missing an eye and having the fucked up depth perception might do all kinds of things to your sense of motion. Make you car sick or something."

Actually, Harry hadn't given that a thought. "It possible, _if_ I was willing to admit to anything as ungentlemanly as car sickness." He's certainly not going to admit to the wood in his trousers.

"Of course, no gentleman would dream of puking in a car." Eggsy sniffs. "There's a sick bag in the glovebox, though. If you think you'll need it."

"Sick bag?"

"Yeah, started keeping a few on hand. Doing an extraction with a couple of drunk-ass Hooray Henrys in tow taught me a lesson."

"Ah." Harry can imagine that.

"Besides, this might be a Kingsman car, but there's no reason not to treat her with the utmost respect." Eggsy pats the dash.

The approach into London goes smoothly, the traffic seems to part ways for Eggsy like the Red Sea did for Moses, and it's a little before noon when Eggsy pulls up to a very familiar house. Eggsy hasn't changed much – not even the color of the curtains and the plantings he has done in the fall. Harry lets out a deep sigh and makes no move to get out of the car. 

"What's the matter?"

"Intellectually, I know that I've been gone for more than two years, but looking at the house – it feels like a few weeks. Like I've just been away on a mission, nothing more dramatic than that. But everything's changed, it's not even my house anymore."

"Harry – just say the word and –"

Harry cuts Eggsy off. "No, we've been through that. Just give an old man a chance to sort things out."

"Harry – you might be many things, but you're not old." Eggsy truly seems to believe that.

This is an argument Harry doesn't want to have, not yet, at least. So he gets out of the car and tries to help Eggsy with the few pieces of luggage – a small carry-all and the suit bag. Eggsy lets him take the suit bag, if just so he can open the door and undo the alarm system.

Harry stands in the entryway and just lets the bag drop. He's absolutely speechless.

"Harry? You okay?" Eggsy picks up the bag and hangs it on the coat tree.

"I'm fine." No, actually he isn't. In two years, Eggsy hasn't changed a thing. It _really _is as if Harry's only been gone a day. The butterflies in their cases are still on the walls, the terrible, depressing artwork still adorns the staircase wall that Harry always meant to change but never got around to doing.__

__Why would Eggsy keep all of this?_ _

__Eggsy pulls Harry towards the living room. "Take a load off, relax. Merlin's crew will be here soon, making a mess of everything when they put in the cameras."_ _

__Harry lets himself be led, but up to a point. When they pass the downstairs powder room, he can't help but take a look. And there is Mr. Pickle, still presiding over the bog like some tiny, fierce god. It's almost too much to process._ _

__"Eggsy – "_ _

__Whatever Harry's about to say is interrupted by the scrabbling claws of another – albeit living – small dog, Eggsy's pug. The small beast comes to a halt in front of them, pants at Eggsy and swivels his head to look at Harry._ _

__"JB, best manners now."_ _

__And JB seems to listen to Eggsy. He lets out a single bark, sits, and offers up a paw. Harry's never been able to resist a dog, especially one so charming. He drops to one knee and takes that paw. "It's good to see you again, Mr. Bauer. I'll be here for a while, I hope you won't mind."_ _

__JB lets out one more bark and wriggles his whole body._ _

__"Okay, okay – give me a sec, bruv." Eggsy taps his thigh and heads off towards the back of the house, the pug at his heels. Harry follows, equally caught up in Eggsy's thrall._ _

__As they pass through the house, Harry's in a state of constant amazement. Nothing – absolutely nothing – has been changed. Even the kitchen, in the back of the house, looks the same. Perfectly clean counters, not a dish in the sink or in the rack. Even the same type of blue scrubber in the tray by the faucet. But he does – thank god – find one difference. There's a pair of bowls on the floor, on a rubber mat with a dog's face painted on it. A pug's face._ _

__Eggsy comes back in with JB, who makes a bee-line for the water bowl, slobbering and splashing water. The dog finishes, sits in a puddle and wags his tail, flinging droplets everywhere._ _

__Eggsy sighs and gives Harry a look. "He's well-trained, I promise. It's just this one thing with him. He always drinks like a man who'd just spent two weeks in the desert."_ _

__"It's fine, this is his home._ _

__Eggsy makes a face, unbuttons his jacket and drapes it over the back of a chair, tucks his tie in his shirt, grabs a towel – also with a pug's face on it – and picks JB, drying his face, feet and tail before setting him back down and wiping the floor. Harry watches as Eggsy folds the towel and drapes it over the range handle._ _

__"One sec, Harry. Just gotta wash up."_ _

__That's also a production. Cufflinks off, watch off, sleeves precisely folded up to the middle of the forearms, then water and soap and rinse and dry. Harry feels like he's looking at an old movie – his father coming home after a day in the office, except his father had never been this kind or beautiful or full of life. Reginald Edward Hart had been a grim man with grim ideas of propriety and gentlemanly behavior._ _

__Eggsy grins as he reassembles his attire. "So, what do you think?"_ _

__"I don't quite know what to say." Harry shakes his head._ _

__Eggsy's smile dims. "Haz?"_ _

__"You've been living here for more than two years and other than JB's stuff, it seems like nothing has changed."_ _

__"That's a good thing, right?"_ _

__"Eggsy, to you, I was dead. You watched me die. You had no reason to believe I would be back. But you've kept this place the same. It's your home, but it's like – "_ _

__"I was waiting for you to come home?" Eggsy sighs and sits down on one of those horribly uncomfortable café chairs that Harry had acquired with the house. Something else he'd never gotten around to replacing._ _

__"You couldn't have expected this would happen. That I'd return like this."_ _

__"No, but a guy can dream? You said you'd be back, Haz. You were angry, but you promised that you'd be back. I guess I just felt that if I changed something, you'd never come back. I know it's stupid, it's something a kid would do – what I used to do after …" Eggsy's voice is full of pain as he trails off._ _

__Harry takes mercy on his boy and finishes the sentence, "After I came and told you and your mother that your father was dead."_ _

__Eggsy nods. "I would tell myself I needed to be good, be perfect, to take care of mum, and then Dad would come home. So I know it doesn't work, but I guess..." He shakes his head at that foolishness and lets out a shuddering breath. "I get that it must seem strange and creepy, but I've been kind of happy here. With your stuff. I've learned a lot about you."_ _

__"That I have the taste of an overly fussy eighty-year old woman?" Harry probably should let this go, especially since Eggsy's said he's been happy here. But he can't._ _

__Eggsy smiles a bit sadly, "Don't know about that. I think you have the taste of a gentleman. I've learned what's important to you and what type of person you were. Are. And yeah, fussy is okay. Nothing wrong with being fussy. You've got nice things and they should be taken care of."_ _

__Harry wants to pick at this like a scab over a wound, but the doorbell rings._ _

__"That'll be Merlin's minions. Say goodbye to your privacy."_ _

__Harry sighs. He doesn't bother to tell Eggsy that he hasn't had much of that in the last thirty years. Kingsman has been watching him since the beginning._ _

____

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	5. Friends and Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and his crew arrive to install the cameras, and of course nothing goes according to plan. But that's not to say that Harry's first evening back in Stanhope Mews is a disaster. Far from it. It's actually rather ... wonderful.

It turns out that Merlin hasn't sent his minions. He's sent himself, conscripting Roxy and Alastair as minions _pro tem_ , and sets them to work.

"Percival – ye'll do the downstairs, starting with the living room, the dining room, the kitchen, and the loo. Lancelot, ye have the bedrooms and bathrooms upstairs. I'll handle the office, the library and outside cameras. Remember the instructions about placement. Just get the cameras mounted and I'll handle the adjustments once they're on-line. Now, get to work!"

Merlin waves off his minions and stares at Eggsy. "Where's my tea, lad?"

Eggsy, for his part, is absolutely uncowed. "You know where the kitchen is and how to use a kettle. You also know where the tea caddy is, and it's stocked with your favorite. Help yourself. The blue tin has shortbreads if you're feeling peckish."

Merlin chuckles and heads off to the kitchen, pausing to give JB a scratch behind the ears. 

Harry's a little bemused by Eggsy's treatment of Merlin. Earlier this morning, Eggsy hadn't hesitated to get on Merlin's case about his perceived mistreatment of Harry, but this exchange is different. There seems to be a level if intimacy between Eggsy and Merlin that Harry hadn't expected. He doesn’t like the way it makes him feel.

In all the years that Harry's known Merlin, Merlin's always refused to answer Harry's questions about his sexuality. At first, Harry thought Merlin had been as bent as he was, but when Harry had told Merlin that he was gay, Merlin had just shrugged, said 'good for ye' and went back to watching the Arsenal game on the telly. When Harry put a hand on Merlin's thigh, expecting some kind of response (a kiss or perhaps a punch in the face), Merlin had picked up Harry's hand by the thumb and dropped it, making his lack of interest quite clear. Nor had Merlin ever seemed interested in woman, and Harry had seen some rather gorgeous women make their play for Merlin.

At one point, Harry thought Merlin simply had no interest in sex, but the discovery of a very extensive porn collection on Merlin's private server – including some of Harry's own honeypot missions – put that theory to rest. Eventually, Harry had realized that Merlin is simply not interested in participating. He likes to watch, and only watch. 

Perhaps Merlin's tastes have changed. Perhaps he's realized that he has someone worthy of his affection and his body (and yes, Harry's certainly noticed Merlin's body over the years), and Harry can't deny that saving the world can draw people together. Merlin had certainly seemed very appreciative of Eggsy and his accomplishments last night, and Eggsy – well, Eggsy certainly isn't shy about getting up in Merlin's face.

Harry can easily imagine those two forming a deep emotional connection. And no, he definitely does not like the way it makes him feel. Hot and angry and jealous.

_Eggsy is his._

Harry finds himself in the kitchen, watching Merlin make free with the tea kettle, going through the cupboards with the familiarity of someone who's spent a lot of time here. Harry positions himself near the knife block.

"Problem, Harry?" Even though Merlin's back is to him, Harry's not surprised that Merlin knows its him.

"Wouldn't mind a cup, myself."

Harry watches Merlin go through the motions, measuring out the tea, waiting for the kettle to boil, warming the pot before filling it. Merlin pours and pushes the cup towards Harry and takes one for himself.

"Something on yer mind?" Merlin's looking at him over his glasses and there's something of a smirk on his lips. 

"You seem awfully familiar with my kitchen. I think, in all the years I've known you, you've only been here twice."

"It's Eggsy's kitchen, remember. And yes, as ye've surmised, I've become a frequent visitor."

"Ah." Harry moves a bit closer to the knife block.

"Yer lad likes to entertain. Dinners a couple of nights a month when he's in town, poker nights – " 

"Dinners?" That's all Harry hears and his imagination runs wild. Eggsy and Merlin having romantic dinners and then fucking on Harry's massive dining room table. The long chef's knife is in his hand without conscious though.

"Harry? What are ye doing?"

"You and Eggsy. You're his boss and you're having a relationship with him." _With my Eggsy, my bright, beautiful boy._

Merlin looks at the knife in Harry's hand. "What are ye planning on doing with that?"

Harry admits, "I'm not sure. Tell me that you're not fucking Eggsy and I'll make up my mind."

And Merlin is, too. "Ye think … me and Eggsy? That we're, what, together?"

"You're not?"

"Jesus, Harry. Ye've known me for twenty-seven years, ye know that I'm all about the looking, not the touching."

"Well, Eggsy's certainly worth looking at."

Merlin bursts out laughing. "Oh my god, Harry Hart, ye'r such jealous twat. As if Eggsy would even give me the time of day. Put the fucking knife away and brush up on yer listening skills. I said that Eggsy likes to entertain – and by that, I mean with a lot of people. There's a monthly poker night that the other agents pay hefty bribes for an invite, same with dinners. The lad likes to cook, likes to feed people. He's like some 1950s housewife."

Harry finds he can breathe again. "That's good to hear. Would have hated to have to bury you under the geraniums, right where JB relieves himself." He makes a show of sliding the knife back into the block. "We won't mention this again."

"No, of course not." Now Merlin's definitely smirking. 

Alastair barges into the kitchen, banging a ladder against the painted wall. Harry winces at the scuff mark left behind. Alastair looks from Merlin to Harry and back to Merlin again, "I'm not saying a word. But – "

"Ye just said, ye weren't going to say a word. 'But' is a word."

Alastair, a man who is normally more dignified than Prince Philip, sticks his tongue out at both of them. "Get out and let me get to work."

Merlin tells Harry that he's going to install cameras in the office. Not _Harry's_ office, but _the_ office – the distinction is clear. They head upstairs and Harry hides a grimace at the overwhelming display of hideous artwork. What had he been thinking? Dogs and dead things and Eggsy's been living with them – happily, he claims – but it feels like some kind of terrible Victorian-era museum of horrors. If this were still his, Harry would burn the lot of it.

The office is at the far end of the hallway, past the bedrooms. The door to the master, his _former_ bedroom, is open and Merlin stops and pokes his head in. "Lad, I need into the office, can I have the keys?"

"Sure thing, Merls." 

_Merls?_ Harry is glad to see that Eggsy's penchant for terrible nicknames has survived his transformation into a Kingsman.

Merlin steps into the bedroom and Harry follows. Roxy is on a step ladder, installing a camera and Eggsy's leaning against the wall, watching her. Harry takes in the room in a glance, and like the rest of the house, everything is as he'd left it. But there's a staleness here that isn't present downstairs, as well as a layer of dust. Eggsy isn't using this room.

In fact, he excuses himself, determinedly not looking at Harry and goes to the guest room. A few moments later, he comes out with a keyring and passes it to Merlin. "Just the office please, come get me when you need to get into the library."

"Certainly, lad. No problem."

Harry doesn't ask about that. This is Eggsy's house, he's just a guest. But he's also terribly curious; is the library the one room where Eggsy's made changes? What doesn't Eggsy what him to see? He looks over at Merlin as they head to the office. His old friend just shakes his head. 

"Ye'll have to ask." Merlin unlocks the door and Harry's greeted with something he knows he should have expected – the rows of pinned up broadsheets, those ridiculous Sun headlines memorializing tragedies that never happened, triumphs no one outside of Kingsman would ever know about. Merlin tilts his head to the right; to a wall that Harry hadn't had a chance to fill. There are five new front pages tacked to the wall. Eggsy's own collection of secret victories.

"When I've cleared ye, I'll have him tell ye all about it."

"That would be lovely."

"No, what would be lovely is if ye helped me with installing these things."

Harry carefully unpins several broadsheets to make room for the cameras. He winces as Merlin drills into the walls to attach them. "You'll be paying for the paint job when this is all done."

"Just be grateful they're wireless and battery operated and I'm not breaking the plaster and molding to hide them."

Harry has to agree. "Fair enough. Remember that job in '03 at the Czech Embassy?"

"Don't remind me. I lost a lot of hair over that one."

Harry and Lancelot had infested the building with rats and Merlin and his team, masquerading as exterminators brought in from Prague, had to wire the whole building in less than six hours, only to discover that the walls were double plastered over solid wood planking. 

Merlin finishes up and Harry stays put since Merlin's going to work in the library and Eggsy's made it clear that that room is off limits. Did Eggsy get rid of all of his first editions? Harry doesn't think so, given how well preserved the rest of the house is. Harry's oddly unperturbed by the idea, and actually half hopes that Eggsy has. It seems healthier that this carefully preserved museum to the life and times of Harry Hart.

A tap on the door distracts Harry from his musings. It's Lancelot – Roxanne Morton – which is still a dissonance to him. In his mind, James only just died. 

"May I come in?"

"Certainly." Harry stands as she enters and shuts the door behind her. Lancelot might be a woman, but Harry will forever be a gentleman. She waits until Harry gestures for her to take a seat, and he only sits when she does. "What can I do for you?"

"Be careful with him." Her voice is quiet but her tone is fierce.

"Excuse me?"

"Eggsy. Please take care of how you deal with him." She removes her glasses and makes it obvious that they're turned off. "He's not as strong as he looks. Especially with anything that has to do with you."

Harry doesn't quite know what to say. He thinks she's mistaken. Eggsy's strong, Eggsy's tough, he has to be. "Weak men don't save the world. Nor do weak women."

Lancelot nods in acknowledgment of the compliment. "I didn't say Eggsy is weak. What I mean is that he's fragile in ways that that you wouldn't expect him to be. He's like a diamond, hardest substance in the world, but like a diamond, if you hit him in just the right place, he'll fracture beyond repair. And you know those weak points, you did a masterful job exploiting them after he didn't shoot JB. You destroyed him with some carefully chosen words and then walked away."

Yesterday, he'd been prepared for a harsh interrogation, to be put through a physical and emotional wringer – not by the idiots Merlin brought in, but by Merlin, himself. And his old friend had done a good job of prying at his weaknesses. But this young woman is wielding words like knives, and she's not afraid to cut deep and see him bleed.

"Your apology at the shop was quite charming. Beautiful and heartfelt. You hit all the marks; you deserve an Olivier for it."

"I wasn't acting." Harry choses not to rip Lancelot to shreds, if just because he's interested in seeing where this goes.

"No, I'm sure you hadn't been. I was impressed by your sincerity and I believe you meant every word you spoke. You were truly sorry for hurting Eggsy. But words mean nothing without action."

"I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to him." It's the truth. And it feels so strange and inappropriate making that declaration to a relative stranger.

Lancelot is not impressed. "How about spending the rest of your life making sure it never happens again?"

"It won't." Harry will cut out his own tongue before hurting Eggsy like that again.

Lancelot doesn't believe him. "I grew up surrounded by men like you, men who are intelligent, well-bred, with good manners taught from the cradle. Men who grow up believing in a Gentleman's Code, and use it to to justify the most outrageous of actions and inactions. Men who are emotionally distant, emotionally withholding, who believe it is better to be cruel out of kindness than to offer an understanding shoulder. Men who think nothing of tearing down someone weaker, like they are ripping wings off of a butterfly, because they believe it's the God-given right of a well-born Englishmen to teach hard lessons to the pitiable underclass."

"Miss Morton – you know nothing about me – " In his anger, Harry doesn't use her codename. This has become far too personal.

"I may not know you, but I've seen the damage you've inflicted. I've watched Eggsy turn himself into you because all he wants to do is to prove himself worthy of the honor you bestowed on him when you proposed him for Kingman. It's not that he does what he thinks you would do, or he does what he thinks would have made you proud. He uses you as a measuring stick, he thinks he's a failure if he doesn't succeed where you you have. He's not trying to surpass you. Everything he does is an attempt to erase the stain of your disappointment in him."

Harry can't defend himself because everything that Lancelot has said to him is the absolute truth. This is why Eggsy's living in a house that's become a shrine to the memory of Harry Hart.

"Eggsy is not only my best friend, he's the best man – the best _person_ – I know. He's a caretaker, he's happiest when he's helping people. And I'm so afraid you're going to exploit that. That's what men like you do. You'll take what's being offered and you'll never count the cost to the giver."

Harry closes his eye and tries to find a calm place, something behind the righteous need to deny these truths. Maybe he can offer a truth of his own. "I came back because of Eggsy. And only Eggsy. I could have walked away from Kingsman, built a new life for myself, but I couldn't. Not without knowing what became of him. Not without trying to make things right for Eggsy, and for us. For all I knew, I was walking into my execution when I went into the shop, but that didn't matter if only someone would tell me what had happened to Eggsy after the disaster in Kentucky." This is something Harry's just admitting to himself. Until this moment, he'd couched his rational in the fate of Kingsman, in the fate of his colleagues and friends. But the truth is that he's only returned because of Eggsy.

Lancelot seems to believe him and relaxes her stiff posture just a bit. She repeats her plea from the start of this conversation. "Please, just be careful with Eggsy."

"I will, on my honor."

Lancelot stands and Harry follows suit. Before she leaves, she says, "If you hurt him again, I won't kill you. I'll just take out your other eye. And maybe your tongue."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

As threats go, Lancelot's is really rather effective. Very _Princess Bride_ , Harry must admit. At least she didn't threaten to cut off his dick.

Tired of hiding in his office, Harry goes to check on the progress. Eggsy and Lancelot are working in the hallway bathroom and Harry scoots by, hopefully unnoticed, and heads into his bedroom. His _former_ bedroom, he reminds himself. And the impression he'd gotten earlier is correct – Eggsy isn't using this room. 

There's a light coating of dust over everything, and when Harry touches the bedding, it's stiff from disuse. He sees signs of his former life everywhere. In the leather valet on the dresser, exactly where he'd left it two years ago, is a platinum tie clip with HRH engraved on the back. It had been a gift from his grandfather when he'd graduated from Winchester. It's something Harry treasures; he's never worn it on a mission, for fear he'd lose it. The valet also holds a button from a waistcoat that belongs with a favorite navy blue three-piece, a ticket stub from the last movie he'd gone to see – by himself, of course – and an elegantly thin pocket knife that had once saved his life. The blade is broken, but he had kept it out of sentimentality. 

"Hey there, Haz. Settling in?" Eggsy comes in and he's holding a set of linens. 

"Just reacclimatizing myself." Harry knows there's no point in talking how nothing's been touched here, why Eggsy's been living in the guest bedroom.

Without a by-your-leave, Eggsy starts stripping the bed. "Figured you'd want fresh sheets."

"Thank you, that would be nice." Harry's reminded of Lancelot's comment, that Eggsy's happiest when he's helping people. "I can do this."

"Nah, it's fine. Don't mind. Gives me something to do. Merlin, Rox and Perce keep telling me to scram. They're doing the alignment and programming and I'm not supposed to see any of the codes."

"Don't they trust you?" 

"Of course they do, but it's _protocol_." Eggsy puts a subtle emphasis on the last word. "And Merlin knows I can hack the feed if I want to."

"You can?" Harry hadn't thought hacking would be part of Eggsy's toolset.

"Yeah – there's been a lot of emphasis on cross-training the last year or so. All agents have to spend at least ten hours a month in Merlin's domain with some of his eggheads, working on advanced tech. There's even quarterly reviews testing our skills. I guess this is what happens when Arthur is also the quartermaster. I like it – like the challenge."

"I'm not surprised, and I expect you're quite good at it, too."

A faint blush darkens Eggsy's cheeks at the praise; Harry files that away for future reference.

Harry gives Eggsy a hand and they finish making the bed in short order. "Bet you'll sleep well tonight. Home where you belong." Eggsy stares at Harry, as if he's daring Harry to correct him about the word _home_.

Harry doesn't "Yes, I am."

"Hope you don't mind, but I've invited Merlin, Roxy and Perce to stay for dinner. Merlin says that the programming's going to take another three or four hours and then another two hours for testing."

"I don't mind at all. It'll be nice to share a meal with good friends."

Eggsy smiles. "It's nice. I like to have people over when I'm in town for a while. This place is deceptively big, you know?"

"Of course I know." Harry smiles. He can't help himself, but this isn't the time or place for a lecture about verbal tags.

"Duh, of course you know." Eggsy shakes his head, but continues. "Back when – when they first made me Galahad and I was still kind of rough around the edges, Rox had suggested that I invite Percival and Bors over for dinner – to help me feel more natural with my table manners. And it just sort of snowballed from there. Sometimes the only way to get Merlin out of his office is to bribe him with a fried chicken dinner, and Roxy's always game for a home-cooked meal. She hates cooking."

"You can cook?" Somehow, Harry can't picture Eggsy in the kitchen.

But apparently he's wrong. "Damn right I can. Can't live off of takeaway all the time." Eggsy gives him a look. "Or perhaps you can. I've gotten rid of your encyclopedic collection of takeaway menus, by the way. Did you have one for every curry shop and Chinese restaurant between here and Notting Hill Gate?"

Harry has to admit, "I think I did."

"So you see, you can't complain that I didn't change anything." Eggsy grins like he's just won a prize.

"If not takeaway, then what's for dinner? What are you dazzling us with, tonight?"

"Lasagna."

Harry raises an eyebrow at that. "Homemade?"

"Of course, including the pasta."

"And you plan on having that done in time for dinner?" Harry checks his watch, it's after three and while he's been known to keep Continental dining hours, that seems a stretch.

"Nah – I make a few extra pans every month and keep 'em in the freezer. Perce actually had tears in his eyes when I offered to put one up to heat."

"Merlin mentioned that you liked to entertain."

Eggsy nods. "It's nice getting people together. At first I thought that with everyone being spies and all, we'd have to keep our distance from each other, but apparently not. Merlin says that we should get to know each other on the outside. Calls it a safety valve – need to be able to let off steam with people who understand the life. It's why coppers hang out together, firefighters, too. And it's not like we can really talk down at the local."

"And there are only so many hours that you can stay at HQ without going mad."

"Ain't that the truth. Don't know how Merlin manages."

"Merlin's always been a bit, well, _special_. What's the term you kids use these days, 'extra'?"

Eggsy snorts with laughter. "Yeah, that's it. Merlin is so extra he has to be Arthur in his spare time." Eggsy gets a crafty look in his eyes. "What will you give me not to tell him you said that?"

Harry's about to say _"You have everything already, including my heart"_ , but wisely chooses not to. "No need to keep it a secret. Merlin well knows what I think of him. And I think you're forgetting something."

"What?"

Harry taps the side of his face, as if he's wearing a pair of glasses.

Eggsy flushes dark red in embarrassment. "Eh, I'm an idiot sometimes."

"We've all made that mistake. Ask Merlin about the first time I wore those things on a mission."

"I've been wearing them for two years, I ain't got that excuse."

Harry can't help but remember Lancelot's comments about Eggsy using him as a measuring stick. "You've gotten accustomed to wearing them, and although you're in your own home now, you're still on Kingsman business. Sometimes that's a hard distinction to remember."

Eggsy's expression tells Harry that he's not buying it, but rather than continue to pick at this unimportant matter, Eggsy changes the subject. "What wine would you pair with lasagna?"

Harry thinks for a moment. "Something full bodied, to stand up to the strong flavors. This is a Bolognese style, with meat and cheese?"

"Yeah – it's kind of a belly bomb. Ground pork and lamb with four cheeses, plus béchamel, the works. Last time I served it, Bors brought over a nice Chianti…" Eggsy mimics the too-famous sucking sound Anthony Hopkins made in _Silence of the Lambs_. "It was good but I figured you might have something better to recommend. I'm still learning."

Harry's pleased to find something to mentor his boy on. "Chianti's a good choice, but so is a Malbec or a Barbera. I've had a nice Sangiovese with similar dishes. Anything hearty will go."

"Feel like taking a walk? Need the wine and some bread, some salad greens because we've got to be healthy. And because it's Merlin and Percival, can't forget about pudding."

"Sounds nice." Frankly, Harry wouldn't mind some fresh air. This house and all of the memories are clogging his head with too many emotions. 

Merlin's downstairs, in the living room and tapping away on his tablet. When he sees Harry trailing Eggsy, he asks, "Where are ye off to, lad?"

"Taking this guy for his walkies." Eggsy tips his head towards Harry. 

Merlin snorts in laughter. "Don't forget the poop bag."

Harry blinks. This is another unexpected dynamic between Eggsy and Merlin – friendly bantering, and at Harry's expense. He likes it more that the jealousy he'd experienced earlier.

They pass Alastair in the hall and he's still swinging the step ladder around without a care for the paintwork. Eggsy doesn't hesitate to take him to task. "Perce – if you bang up my walls one more time, you'll be going home hungry."

That threat seems to work. Alastair gets on his knees to examine the damage he'd just caused to the wall and mutters something about touch up paint.

As natural as anything, Eggsy goes to the coat closet and pulls out Harry's cashmere walking coat, hands it to him, and takes out his own. Harry forebears commenting, because there's nothing more to say at this point. 

There's something immensely satisfying about shopping with Eggsy. It's a vision of a domestic life that Harry never thought he'd wanted, but now – now it's going to be hard to give up. It's only been about six hours since he found Eggsy waiting for him in the breakfast room at the beta site, but that feels like another lifetime. 

The dissonance of homecoming, he supposes a therapist will tell him.

Eggsy seems to know every merchant in a ten-block radius, and they all adore him. Harry, who'd lived in this posh Kensington neighborhood for more than twenty years, never realized that it housed such a diversity of shops. Maybe because he was rarely home and never bothered to do his own shopping, relying on a standing order with a delivery service Kingsman provided for its agents. And take away, of course.

At the bakery, at the wine merchant, at the green grocer, Eggsy introduces Harry as his dear friend, returning home after a long trip abroad. There's a not-so-subtle emphasis on the word "dear" that clues people in. Eggsy's marking his territory and making it clear that Harry's not his father or his uncle or some old family connection. At one point, Eggsy tucks his arm into Harry's and leans in. Apparently Eggsy didn't like the way the young butcher was making conversation or fluttering his eyes at Harry.

Harry could get used to that.

Two hours later, their shopping complete, Harry and Eggsy head back to Stanhope Mews. The house is filled with the scent of baking lasagna and the sound of Merlin cursing in three Gaelic dialects. Eggsy rolls his eyes and heads to the kitchen, while Harry goes into the dining room to see if he can feed his curiosity about Merlin's minor meltdown. It's minor because Merlin hasn't started cursing in Cornish, yet.

Merlin tells him to bugger off. 

Harry ends up in his living room and spots JB looking rather lonely from his bed in the corner. It's a different bed, but the same corner where Mr. Pickle's had been. Harry sits in his favorite chair and without thinking, taps his knee. That had been the signal to Mr. Pickle to come over for cuddles. From the way that JB perks up, it seems to be something that Eggsy does, too.

Harry adds a vocal command and JB trots over. Harry doesn't try to make the dog jump up. Pickle had been a terrier with springs in his tiny legs, JB is a pug with all of his breed's breathing and orthopedic problems. Harry scoops the dog up and cuddles him. "Thank you for keeping me company, Mr. Bauer." He scratches JB behind his ears and the dog whines in pleasure. "Too many people here, no?"

Harry keeps up the one-sided conversation with the little dog until the beast falls asleep against his chest. Harry lets out a sigh of contentment and closes his eye. A nap right now really does seem like a good idea.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Dinner is absolutely wonderful. Eggsy is a spectacular host, not only providing excellent food that's beautifully served, but sparkling entertainment. Harry finds him witty without being obscene, amusing but not cruel, a cogent thinker who can express his opinions without being overbearing. Eggsy lets everyone speak and keeps the conversation moving across a variety of topics. He is, in short, brilliant.

And yet, Harry still sees quite a bit of the rough young man he'd become enchanted with. This Eggsy isn't some over-polished mannequin aping someone else's manners, he's just grown and matured and become the man he'd destined to, if fate and a grenade hadn't interfered with his life.

Eggsy is still quintessentially Eggsy, just … more. More delightful, more perceptive, more charming. And Harry is, if anything, even more in love with him.

After the dinner dishes are cleared and the last of the wine consumed, there's a pleasant lull in the conversation and Harry has to make a concerted effort not to fall asleep. He can't ever remember being quite this happy.

"Coffee and dessert? We have a lemon tart and a chocolate and hazelnut gateau." Eggsy's voice seems to be filled with laughter. Or perhaps bells. Or maybe angels. _Angels? How much did I drink?_

"I don't know where I'll put it, but the lemon tart sounds too good to pass up. Ye know my weaknesses too well, laddie." Merlin's accent gets just a bit thicker after a good meal. 

Alastair opts for the chocolate and Harry passes on the sweets. "But coffee sounds good."

"Rox?"

"I'm not sure, so why don't I give you a hand and take a peek at my choices."

"Thanks. Appreciate it." Eggsy and Roxy get up, and as they leave the dining room, Eggsy pauses and fiddles with something on the sideboard. Music fills the room, something light and jazzy and not too loud.

Alastair sighs and leans back against the chair, the posture of a gentleman giving way to a full belly and wine buzz. "That boy – "

Before Harry can say anything, Merlin corrects him. "Not a boy, a man."

Alastair nods. "That _young_ man is utterly brilliant. The perfect agent, the perfect host. Cooks like a Michelin-rated chef. And as decent a human being as I've ever met." He turns to Merlin. "Why haven't you cloned him yet?"

"If ye hadn't made be bloody Arthur, maybe – just maybe – I'd have the time."

"All right, I'll concede the point. But when we find your replacement, you'll put that on the top of your list, right?"

"Sure thing, right after I get my degrees in medicine and bio-engineering." Merlin sniffs. "And ye know, cloning doesn't work like that. Eggsy's as much a product of his environment as his genetics. Don't think that can be replicated."

Harry's not certain if Merlin's taking the piss or if he's serious. Regardless, this conversation is making him uncomfortable. "A gentleman never talks about his host when he's left the room. It's unmannerly."

"True enough, but why do ye think Eggsy turned on the music? To give us privacy. Or at least the illusion of it."

Harry knows all too well how sound carries from the dining room to the kitchen, but that Merlin knows as well surprises him. He's not jealous per se because he knows there's nothing to be jealous of, but he still feels cheated. He's missed out on so much and sighs in melancholy. 

In an effort to change the subject, Harry asks a question that's been niggling at him since Merlin arrived. "Why are you doing the camera installation yourself, why make Alastair and Roxy your minions today?"

"Yeah, why did you drag us along instead of the usual crew? Not that I mind, gives me a chance to catch up with an old friend." Alastair smiles at Harry and Harry can remember a time when they'd tried to make a go of it. It lasted three weeks and took three years before they could look each other in the eye again.

Merlin shakes his head in mock disgust. "Harry's question I can forgive, since he's been out of the game awhile and might not be working with all cylinders at full capacity, but ye, Alastair? That ye can't figure it out? That's a whole other kettle of fish. And for the record, Eggsy and Roxy figured it out right away."

"Figured what out?" Harry's still not making the connection; he's definitely too old and slow.

"Other than Andrew and myself, Galahad, Percival and Lancelot are the only Kingsman who know that Harry Hart's returned from the dead. I explained that the panic alarm at the shop had been a system test. It's better, right now, that yer resurrection is kept quiet and nobody else in Kingsman know about it. Which would be impossible if I sent my own crew here; my minions can't help but gossip amongst themselves."

"What about your minion at the beta site."

Merlin shakes his head. "Elaine is my PA and a new hire – I brought her in after V-Day. She has no clue who ye are and she knows not to ask questions or talk to anyone."

"Um, Arthur – I wouldn't be so sure that Elaine doesn't know who Harry is." Alastair's grinning and Harry knows that look means trouble.

"Why would ye say that? I haven't given her access to dead agent files and I've personally handled everything to do with the Galahad transition. With Harry – and Eggsy."

Alastair's grin devolves into a smirk. "You're forgetting something. One of Elaine's first duties had been to commission Harry's portrait. The one that's hanging in a place of honor in the Memorial Hall at HQ. With a nice brass plaque that says 'Henry Reginald Hart, Galahad V, 1987 – 2015', so I'd say that she definitely knows who Harry is."

"Well, shit." Merlin flushes bright red in embarrassment.

Harry has to laugh. "It's good to see that you're not immune to fucking up, _Arthur_."

"Ye try doing two jobs at once and we'll see how often ye fuck up, ye poncy one-eye'd twat."

Rather than get outraged at the insult, Harry decides to add to the injury. "I think you've also forgotten about the medical personnel. Now, I wasn't awake when you did your probes and tests, but I'd have to imagine that there were quite a few people who saw me."

Merlin glares at him. "Medical personnel are subject to heightened confidentiality rules."

Harry shakes his head. "And they are still the biggest gossips in Kingsman. Bigger than your gang down in the technical branch. It'll likely stay within medical, but I'd venture to say that more people know that you'd like."

"And there's no point in telling people not to gossip, it'll just bring more attention to something I don't want discussed." Merlin sighs. "And it's only for a couple of weeks, probably three at the most."

"I thought you said you wanted me here for at least two months. You've changed your mind?"

"No, just want news of yer return kept quiet for a little while."

Harry thinks he understands, considering what Eggsy had said about what Bors had gone through: a week-long debriefing after a simple technical glitch, whereas Harry had been given a kid-glove interrogation that lasted a little less than twelve hours. People would be bound to notice the timeline. "Well, I'm being kept under a kind of house-arrest, aren't I? Cameras on me all the time, can't go anywhere without Eggsy watching. You're following the Lazarus Protocol as you're supposed to. Even if it becomes general knowledge that I've returned from the dead, it's not as if I'm walking back into Kingsman and certified for active duty."

Merlin concedes the point. "And ye won't have access to HQ for a long while. Yer sessions with the therapist will take place at the shop and I'll arrange for physical therapy with someplace here in the city. You'll start those next week, without fail."

"Can't be a trainer if I can't keep up with the trainees?" The question isn't all that rhetorical.

Alastair gives him an odd look, but he doesn't say anything. 

Harry debates asking what the problem is, but Eggsy and Roxy come back into the dining room, laden with coffee and cake.

The conversation returns to neutral topics, and at some point, Alastair decides to update Harry on everything he'd missed on both Coronation Street _and_ EastEnders. Merlin uses this as an excuse to make his escape to finish the programming. 

Suffused with a warm glow of contentment, Harry listens with half an ear as Alastair rattles on. He's never been one for the soaps, but there's something so quintessentially English about it. The conversation devolves into a good natured argument about the new version of Bake-Off and whether Paul Hollywood is – as Merlin had said last night – a greedy twat or a good soldier.

"You awake, Haz?"

Too comfortable to move, Harry looks down his nose at Eggsy – with one eye gone, trying to focus like this almost gives him a headache. "I'm awake. A gentleman would never fall asleep at the dinner table."

That earns him a good natured laugh and Roxy and Alastair start coming up with all sorts of outrageous things that a gentleman says he would never do, but always does. It all just floats by in a perfect golden haze. 

Only to be interrupted by Merlin, who's wearing a frown that would frighten lesser and more sober men. His tone is icy. "Percival, Lancelot, please excuse us. I need to speak with Galahad and Harry privately."

They make their farewells, thanking Eggsy for a lovely evening. Alastair waggles his brows at them, uncowed by Merlin's growl, but Roxy gives everyone, everyone except Eggsy, a hard and threatening stare before dragging Alastair away. Eggsy follows them to the front door and Harry can hear him tell Roxy not to worry, that he'll call her in the morning. Alastair has the nerve to ask for leftovers, which Eggsy says are earmarked for Harry, who needs them more. Finally, the door opens and shuts and Eggsy rejoins them in the dining room.

"What's the matter, Arthur?"

Harry blinks and sits up, Eggsy's gone from relaxed informality to brittle professionalism.

Some of the sternness melts from Merlin's expression, and now he looks utterly disgusted. "There's a problem with the equipment. The cameras are working but the router isn't channeling the feeds properly, or encrypting them. The whole box is a piece of shite and I won't be able to get a replacement here for a week. Those damn things are custom built."

Eggsy nods as if he understands what Merlin's talking about. "This is the same problem we had with the surveillance equipment for that one job – "

Merlin nods, knowing that Eggsy won't go into detail since Harry's not cleared. "Yeah. I hate using someone else's tech."

Harry asks, "MI-6 or CIA?" He doesn't bother asking about Mossad. The Israelis never let their encryption tech out of their hands, and if they did, it certainly would never fail.

Merlin just stares at him over his glasses. 

"So, what do we do, sir?" 

That 'sir' still gets Harry right in the gut, and points south.

"I'll need ye to keep a close eye on Harry until a new box comes in. Twenty-four – seven. I'll concede that ye don't have to watch each other take a shit, but ye'r to have eyes on Harry at all other time, or be physically the room with him."

Merlin's gaze goes from Eggsy to Harry. "That means at night, too. Eggsy will be sleeping in your bedroom for the duration."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	6. Not a Dream, But Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lazarus Protocol must be followed; since the cameras that Merlin's set up around the house aren't working, Harry must stay within Eggsy's sight at all times. Even at night, when they are sleeping.
> 
> Two grown men, sharing a single bed. What can go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter earns the story it's Mature Rating.

Despite Merlin's demands, Eggsy gives Harry some privacy to complete his bedtime rituals and Harry finds himself at a bit of a loss. His pajamas are in the same dresser drawer where he'd kept them for the last three decades. The grooming items that had been at the beta site are now arrayed on the bathroom counter. Even his slippers are right where he'd left them. 

The one thing Harry can't find, to his very minor dismay, is his red dressing gown. It _should_ be on the hook on the back of the closet door, but it's not there. Nor is it in the bathroom, or anywhere else. Of all the things for Eggsy to have gotten rid of…

And it's not as if it had been terribly shabby. It was the fourth or fifth in a succession of identical red dressing gowns he'd purchased from a particular men's furnishing shop over the last twenty years. It's not irreplaceable, but it's an essential part of his nighttime wardrobe. A gentleman doesn't just walk around in his pajamas.

But tonight, apparently tonight he does. Harry sighs and relaxes in the chair next to the window, the one that overlooks his backyard. It would be awkward to await Eggsy's arrival in the bed.

The shower goes on and to Harry's delighted surprise, Eggsy is singing. He can't understand the words and the tune is vaguely familiar but impossible to discern over the running water, but Harry has ears and he can tell that Eggsy's voice is beautiful. He had no idea his boy could sing, and he has to wonder at what other hidden talents Eggsy has. It keeps him from contemplating Eggsy wet and naked.

A few minutes later the singing stops and the shower is turned off. Harry stares out the window and concentrates on the darkness. It's really rather strange – less than a week ago, he'd been pretending to be an amnesiac lepidopterist, four nights ago, he'd landed in Heathrow and had been preparing to go to his doom for the sake of learning Eggsy Unwin's fate. 

And now, he's living with Eggsy, getting ready to share a bed with Eggsy – albeit in the most stainless and platonic fashion – and facing a future filled with Eggsy, who proudly bears his former codename. Could life be any more wonderful? 

Harry has to admit that he isn't the man he once had been. He's not the man who'd peacocked his way through a bar fight to impress the young bit of rough he was supposed to be saving and not seducing, nor is he the man who'd raged at that same young man and broke his heart with angry words. He's not the man who put down forty bigots in a church and met his doom at the wrong end of a madman's gun. Harry has to acknowledge that the ruthlessness that once defined him is muted, has gone soft. He feels the need to be better than the cold, sardonic bastard he'd been before Kentucky had changed him forever. 

_"There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man; true nobility is being superior to your former self."_ He'd told Eggsy that, but it had been a long time since he himself had lived according to those values. He wants to be better because he wants to deserve the respect and affection that Eggsy seems to have for him.

Eggsy opens the bathroom door and comes into the bedroom, wearing his Kingsman glasses and the missing red robe, and all of Harry's good intentions evaporate in a haze of lust.

It takes an effort not to let his jaw drop. The deep burgundy looks good on Eggsy – but then, anything would look good on Eggsy. After all, Harry's seen Eggsy in those horrid Jeremy Scott jackets, snapback caps, and the ridiculous Adidas trainers – the ones with wings – and has still found him beautiful.

He'd been charmed seeing Eggsy wearing his neckties, but his robe – that's a level of intimacy that Harry's finding hard to process, if just for the lack of blood flowing to his brain.

"I suppose you're going to want this back." Eggsy fingers the lapel and gives Harry a shy look. 

"Maybe we can come to a custody arrangement?" Harry has no idea where that humorous quip comes from, he rarely capable of witty rejoinders when all the blood in his body is moving to his dick.

"How about I get it on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays? It's yours on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. We alternate on Sundays and national holidays?" Eggsy undoes the belt and hangs the robe up right where it belongs. "It's okay – I'll get one of my own. I've taken so much from you."

Harry can't reply. If he does try to speak, he'll likely choke to death on his tongue. Eggsy's wearing an ancient white Oxford University Boat Club tee shirt. _His_ tee-shirt. It's worn thin after more than thirty years of laundering, so thin that Harry can see Eggsy's nipples through the threadbare cotton. For the sake of his sanity, Harry's glad that Eggsy's wearing his own bottoms – a pair of track pants that are almost as worn as the tee-shirt. He's also grateful that the room is mostly in shadow and he can't quite discern the outline of Eggsy's cock and balls beneath the thin fabric. 

_Not that he's looking_.

"You okay?" Eggsy looks worried and Harry wonders what he's reading in his expression.

"Fine. Just a little … overwhelmed, I guess. Today's events have been most unexpected."

"But good, yeah?"

"Very good." Harry sighs. "I can't even begin to tell you how proud I am of you. Watching you this evening, so at ease with everyone. The perfect gentleman in every respect."

"Whatever I am, it's all because of you, Haz. Just a caterpillar when you found me, you – and Kingsman – turned me into a butterfly."

"A most unique and special species." Harry vaguely remember his younger self's ambition – to discover a new species. It seems to have been fulfilled in a most spectacular fashion. "But what you've made of yourself has little to do with me. I will take great pride in setting you on this path, but whatever you've become is not because of me, it's all your determination." Harry ignores the deep guilt from Lancelot's dressing down, _" Everything he does is an attempt to erase the stain of your disappointment in him."_

Eggsy, unaware of Harry's dark thoughts, shakes his head and smiles, "We'll just have to agree to disagree about that." He goes to the bed and turns down the covers, and stares at them. 

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing – don't go anywhere. I'll be right back." Eggsy takes off his glasses and puts them on the nightstand, facing Harry, right next to the cellphone he must have put there earlier.

A minute later, Eggsy returns with two pillows and Harry wonders if Eggsy's going to put them down the middle, but he adds them to the ones at the head of the bed. "Sorry, I like a few extra." 

"Nothing to apologize for."

"Is this side okay? I think Merlin would prefer if I slept closest to the door, but it's not like you can't get out from the other side."

"It's fine, Eggsy. I can sleep anywhere. Even in the chair if you'd prefer not to share a bed with me."

That earns Harry a frown. "It's fine, Haz. If anyone should be sleeping in a chair, it's me. I'm supposed to be watching you."

"I think we can manage." Harry gets up and stretches. The silk pajamas feel like the most decadent luxury against his skin. "It's good to be home." Harry knows that he really shouldn't consider this place home, but he's too tired and too content – too fucking happy – to correct himself.

And Eggsy just smiles. "Yeah, Haz. Good to have you home."

Harry gets into bed and Eggsy joins him, asking, "Mind if I read for a bit?"

"No, not at all." Harry takes a deep breath and asks his own question. "Would you mind if I took the eyepatch off? It's not really comfortable to sleep in."

"Of course not! That's a fucking ridiculous question to ask – in your own bedroom, your own home!"

Now Harry has to make that correction. "Your home, Eggsy. I'm a guest, remember?"

"Okay, if you want to be technical, yeah – it's my home. But it's yours, too. And you're not a guest, all right? You're going to stay here as long as you want and not a moment less."

Harry wants to ask, _What if I never want to leave?_ , but he can't. It's too soon.

Eggsy doesn't wait for Harry to remove his eyepatch before he turns out the light and Harry appreciates the courtesy. There's a bright burst of illumination as Eggsy turns on his phone, but Harry rolls over and his good eye is buried in the pillow so the light doesn't bother him. 

If he thought he'd have any trouble sleeping next to someone, he'd thought wrong. Eggsy's presence next to him isn't a distraction, it's calming. Harry finds himself matching the rhythm of Eggsy's breathing and between one thought and the next, falls asleep.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry is warm and comfortable and caught up in the most pleasant dream – he's in bed with Eggsy and more importantly, with Eggsy's perfect ass.

He knows it's perfect because it fits so nicely against his groin, just tucked against him. _A perfect place for him to park his morning wood._

That's what's so lovely about dreams – that no matter how strange and unexpected – there are no consequences, and in the good ones, you can just drift along and let matters develop for themselves. So Harry enjoys the dream and rocks against that perfect ass. He's slow and languorous, floating along. There's no rush to bring this to a conclusion. 

It's been so long since he can remember experiencing such a thoroughly sexual dream, and he's going to savor every moment of it.

To the delight of his dream-self, dream-Eggsy's rocking back against him, rolling his butt against dream-Harry's cock and Dream-Harry murmurs, _"Darling boy, you're so good to me."_

Dream-Eggsy doesn't actually reply, he just moans in pleasure.

There's one thing that isn't perfect about this dream - his cock is trapped within his pajama bottoms and that annoyance doesn't disappear with the thought, the way it's supposed to in dreams. So Harry directs his dream hands to push them down and while he's at it, he tugs at dream-Eggsy's bottoms, too. They should both be naked, right? This is his dream, after all. It takes too much effort for his dream hands to unbutton his pajama, and there's a moment of odd violence when he hears the rip of silk, but he's free of those ridiculous constraints. Getting dream-Eggsy naked is easier. The boy is pliant and doesn't hesitate to lift his arms at Harry's command.

When dream-Eggsy tries to turn around, dream-Harry doesn't let him. Not that he doesn't want to see his boy's beautiful face, he just wants the chance to explore and claim and make dream-Eggsy his in ways he could never do while he's awake.

And it should go without saying that riding his cock between dream-Eggsy's buttocks is a pleasure he doesn't want to forego just yet. 

He can hear his dream self pour all kinds of filthy praise into Eggsy's perfect ear. "How perfect you are, your ass is so sweet and hot and when I fuck it, you're going to scream for me, aren't you?"

Dream-Eggsy moans and pushes his ass harder against dream-Harry's cock. It's all so deliciously filthy and forbidden. In the dream, Harry plucks at Eggsy's nipples, rolling the tight nubs between his fingers, making Eggsy moan and buck against him. He lets his right hand work on Eggsy's tit but his left drifts lower, across those beautifully sculpted abs, teasing Eggsy's navel – rubbing the taut rim and fucking into it with his index finger as if he were preparing to fuck Eggsy's ass.

Harry's dream self can't hold back as he feels dream-Eggsy's cock slap against the back of his hand. He abandons Eggsy's belly button for the hot, hard shaft. It's wet, leaking pre-come, and Harry jacks it with a familiarity that comes only from so many dreams of doing just this. There is a difference here, Harry had never dreamed of Eggsy's cock being this thick. Not that his dream-self minds at all. Even when Harry's awake, he's always most appreciative of a partner's size and girth.

Dream-Harry strokes dream-Eggsy, using all the tricks in his arsenal to bring his beautiful boy to pleasure. He whispers things that he'd never tell Eggsy if they were awake, and dream-Eggsy just grunts and moans, frotting back against him like a human-sized sex toy.

But something starts interrupting Harry's dream – a loud, persistent buzzing, almost like an emergency alert from a Kingsman mobile. He tries not to hear it, but even in his dreams, he's too well trained to ignore that sound.

The sound stops but the dream seems to be gone. Harry opens his eye and Eggsy's standing halfway across the room, stark naked and his back to him. The light from the window makes the skin on Eggsy's lower back and buttocks glisten.

_It hadn't been a dream._ Harry goes to put on his eyepatch and fumbles with it, his hands – still sticky with Eggsy's pre-come – are shaking badly. He searches for his pajama bottoms in the mess of sheets and blankets and pulls them on before he gets up. He feels sick, nauseous at the realization that he'd just assaulted Eggsy, that he might have forcibly penetrated Eggsy in a fog of lust.

Still naked, still on the phone, Eggsy leaves the bedroom without a backwards glance, and Harry picks up Eggsy's glasses at takes them into the bathroom. Not that he really wants to be observed in such an intimate state, but he doesn't want Eggsy to get in trouble for not doing his job, either. After what just happened, Harry would much rather let Merlin watch him take a shit than let Eggsy take the blame for a lengthy gap in the observation mandate.

Harry turns on the shower as hot as he can bear, trying to wash away the shame of what he'd done, but even the near-scalding water can't erase the memory of Eggsy's skin under his hands, Eggsy's body responding with such eager pleasure.

He tries to take some comfort in that, that Eggsy – in his sleep – seemed to want Harry. Except that it is so unlikely that Eggsy would have been having a sex dream about him at the exact same moment.

_Or is it?_

Harry turns the water to something more temperate and finishes up. When he goes back into his bedroom with just a towel around his waist, he can hear the shower running in other bathroom. Harry dresses quickly, actually rather grateful that Eggsy hadn't disposed of any of his clothes. He doesn't put on a suit, although he does feel the need for some armor. Dark trousers, a shirt and tie, a somber waistcoat, and a cardigan help him face the world. After he ties the laces to his oxfords, he smacks the heels together and a sharp blade pops out. 

Harry looks over at the Kingsman glasses he'd returned to the nightstand and thinks that perhaps his footwear should be a bit less deadly while he's still under the Lazarus Protocol. He changes into a pair of loafers – Italian and handmade – and heads downstairs, taking Eggsy's glasses with him.

No point in pissing Merlin off any more than he already is.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry dithers and grinds his teeth because he never dithers. He's a man of action who always knows what to do. He makes up his mind easily and changes it when circumstances require. He simple does not _dither_. And that's just what he's doing while he's waiting for Eggsy to come downstairs and pronounce sentence on Harry Hart, filthy pervert.

JB toddles into the kitchen and gives him a look, similar to the one that Mr. Pickle would give him on rising – a reminder that there's doggy business that needs to be done. Harry doesn't know what JB's routine is, but it can't hurt to open the back door and let the pug out. And that seems the perfect thing to do. JB sniffs around a bit, heads to the far corner where the grass has gone brown and waters the brick wall. Harry gives the beast some privacy while it finishes its business.

As they head back inside, Harry hears Eggsy on the stairs and takes a deep breath. This is going to be ugly.

"Morning, Haz." Eggsy's tone is breezy and he's extraordinarily nonchalant as he pushes Harry aside to get to a cabinet. "Thanks for letting JB out. For a little dog, he's all bladder."

Eggsy pours a small measure of kibble into the bowl, refills JB's water and waits for the little beast to finish. Today, JB doesn't splash water quite as widely as yesterday, but there's still a bit to mop up. Naturally, the pug doesn't care and trots off for a nap, or so Harry surmises.

Left alone with Eggsy, without even the dubious protection of a twelve-pound canine, Harry's all nerves. He licks his lips and asks, "Tea? Breakfast?"

Eggsy doesn't answer as cleans up, and as he finishes washing his hands, he turns to Harry and says, "I thought we'd go out for breakfast. Don't think either of us feels like cooking. I know that after last night, I don't."

Harry's puzzled. "Last night?"

"Our impromptu dinner party, remember? Unless you want the leftover lemon tart or hazelnut gateau for breakfast. Reheated lasagna is a bit heavy for first thing in the morning."

Harry shakes his head, but can't quite believe the normalcy of this conversation. Doesn't Eggsy want to talk about what had happened upstairs? 

Apparently not. 

Eggsy asks, "So, are we going out? There's a nice café a few blocks over, which you probably know all about. It's only open until two, just does breakfast and lunch."

Harry's willing to play along, to delay the inevitable. "Actually, I know very little about the neighborhood restaurants and markets. I'm rarely – " He corrects himself, "I _was_ rarely home."

Eggsy smiles, as bright and cheerful as ever. "Then you're in for a treat. They do a full English that's to die for."

"Sounds good." That isn't quite a lie, but Harry's too nervous to want to consume anything as greasy as a full English breakfast. Will Eggsy want to have this out in public? He can't imagine so.

"So, shall we go?"

At the coat closet, Harry helps Eggsy with his coat and has to command himself not to smooth the soft black cashmere as it falls into place on Eggsy's shoulders. Now Harry wishes he'd put on a suit, because a gentleman doesn't go out in a cardigan and a coat. He'd look like a fool if he went upstairs to put on a suit jacket and wonders if he really needs to bother with a coat. But Eggsy seems about to argue with him on the necessity of proper outerwear, so he just sheds the cardigan and dons his coat.

He controls a wistful sigh as Eggsy picks up a Rainmaker. There's another in the umbrella stand, but it probably wouldn't be a good idea to ask for it. 

The brisk wind is almost too cold for October, making him grateful for the decision to wear a coat. As Eggsy had promised, it isn't far to the cafe, a pretty little restaurant just on the right side of twee. It wouldn't be out of place on the High Street in a town like Chipping Norton, and it certainly fits right in with the upscale dowdiness of a London neighborhood filled with old money and older names.

Eggsy nods to the hostess and she takes them to a corner booth, which seems to be Eggsy's regular place to perch. There's a moment of very low comedy when they both attempt to sit on the side facing the door. Eggsy gives in with a softly voiced, "I trust you'll let me know if anyone's coming for us."

Harry can't help but chuckle. "Absolutely. I'll let you cover me with the Rainmaker while I'll take point with the salt shaker and a butter knife."

Eggsy's smile is incandescent. "And I bet you'll take 'em down without raising a sweat. Just like that day in the Black Prince."

Harry owns up to the truth. "I was showing off for you."

"Of course you were. Taking out Dean's goons like they were a bunch of ants at a picnic." Eggsy bites his lip and looks like pure temptation. "You were a fucking peacock, putting on a display like that."

Harry thinks, _Showing off for a mate, you mean._ But he just says, "Merlin's never accused me of being a subtle fighter."

"You can say that again. I've studied your files, you know. Needed to really see what I was going to have to live up to." Eggsy's all but resting his chin on his hands, his eyes glowing. "You are one fucking magnificent piece of work, Harry Hart."

A bit embarrassed, Harry ducks his head. "Yes, well – I suspect those days are over."

"Not if I have anything to say about it." 

Harry tries not to squirm at the praise.

Thankfully, a server comes over with menus. He seems to know Eggsy well enough to greet him by name. "Mr. Unwin, good to see you again. It's been a while."

"Been traveling." Eggsy smiles at the boy with the perfect degree of coolness.

"Tailoring, never realized it could be so … exciting. Taking you all over the world." The boy's actually fluttering his eyelashes at Eggsy. "What does it take to become a tailor?"

"A lot of hard work and dedication." Eggsy's tone is hard, there's a coldness there Harry's never heard from him.

"Mmmm." The boy just stands there and smiles, completely oblivious to Eggsy's mood.

Harry clears his throat. He's not really accustomed to being ignored like this.

"Oh, sorry." The boy hands them the menus. "Would you like to hear the specials for today?"

Harry looks at Eggsy, who shrugs. "That will be fine."

The waiter runs through a list of fairly ordinary offerings as if he was reciting a speech for a school play, then goes off to fetch coffee for them.

Eggsy sighs and quietly says. "I had hoped that Devon wouldn't be on shift today."

"Why?" Harry prays that the boy isn't one of Eggsy's conquests.

"He's a little much with the flirting."

"He's cute, I guess. If you like the type."

"Moronic twinks without an original thought in their head? Not in the least." Eggsy grimaces. "Sorry, that's harsh. He's just an annoying kid." A shamed expression crosses Eggsy's face. "Probably as annoying as I was to you."

"You never annoyed me, Eggsy. I was – and probably still am – undeserving of your affection and regard."

Eggsy gives him a look, like he wants to argue. Instead, he picks up the menu and makes a show of reading it.

Devon comes back with coffee and he's still gratingly cheerful and flirtatious as he takes their order. Perhaps in concession to Harry's age, he looks to him first. Harry decides that if ever there was a situation that called for being a mischievous little shit, now would be it. He looks at Eggsy and puts on the doe-eyes that Merlin once called his most dangerous weapon. "Darling, what would you recommend?"

Eggsy blinks, but his boy is quick, picking up on the game. "Well, nothing too sweet – not after your lips this morning. And I confess, despite the exercise, I'm still a bit full from last night." The double-entendres keep coming. Eggsy finally looks up at Devon. "Let's keep it simple. Two soft-boiled eggs, buttered toast and some marmalade."

Harry orders the same and after Devon scurries off, he says, "So much for the full English."

"Maybe another time. I wasn't lying when I said I was still full from last night. And besides, since I'm going to be off mission rota and out of HQ for a while, I'll have to watch myself. I run to fat when I'm not so active."

Harry nods. "You're far wiser than I was at your age."

"What do you mean?"

"I'd broken my leg in two places about five years after I started and was a semi-invalid for almost three months. Let's just say that it was a good thing that my physical therapist was a former RMC drill sergeant who worked me into the ground for the next three months. Otherwise, the tailors would have been most displeased with me."

Eggsy nods. "Yeah. It's one of the reasons why I watch my booze, too. That and the family history. Don't want to end up like my mum."

Harry can't quite believe he hasn't asked after Eggsy's family. "How are they?"

Eggsy sighs. "Mum had a hard time after V-Day. She had one of those fucking SIM cards and nearly ended up killing Daisy – Roxy had talked to her before the rage stated, and helped her get Daisy safe, but it was a close thing. I'd been able to get her away from Dean and his mutts, even got her and Daisy a house, courtesy of Kingsman, but she's had a hard time of it. She's managed to get off the drugs that Dean had pushed on her, but the bottle has always been her big weakness. It's one of the reasons why I'd left the Marines – Dean wouldn't think of keeping her off the booze and the drugs while she was pregnant. I've been helping as much as I can… " It doesn't need to be said that Eggsy can't be there all the time anymore.

"I'm sorry." Harry can't help but feel responsible. So much of what went wrong in the Unwin household can be laid at Harry's feet. He also feels a bit ashamed of his own liquid lifestyle, given his father's problems.

"It's not your fault. Not at all. Maybe it's mine, for not getting to Valentine sooner. Maybe she'd have the strength to give up that last addiction if she hadn't had to suffer through what that bastard made her almost do." Eggsy bites his lip and looks out of the window, his expression far too lost. 

Harry's not about to enter that minefield, not in public. "What about your sister?" Is your mother able to care for her? Harry can't imagine that Eggsy would leave his sister in the care of a neglectful mother. The child had been the motivator for Eggsy for so much of his life.

If anything, the expression on Eggsy's face gets a little sadder. "After I got rid of Dean, Mum got in touch with her sister, my Aunt Emily. She's a good lady. She's taken Daisy in, treating her right, like her own daughter."

"That's good to hear." Harry wonders just how Eggsy got rid of his stepfather.

"She lives in New Zealand, in Christchurch."

"Ah." That explains the sadness.

Eggsy blinks. "I miss her, but I know that it's for the best. My aunt had told my Mum that when she got her one-year sobriety chip, she could move to New Zealand and live with them. Five months ago, that happened. I flew with Mum to New Zealand and got her settled. She is so much happier there. I'm pretty sure she knows I'm not really a tailor, and this way, she doesn't have to see me when I'm not at my best and I don't have to pretend that I'm not recovering from a gunshot or some broken bones. It's all good for her, easier to live a healthy life without worrying about me every day."

Harry can understand that. It had been the one reservation he'd had when he'd proposed Eggsy for the Lancelot position – how he'd deal with his family, especially his mother. "You talk with your sister and your mother regularly?"

"FaceTime or Skype with them at least once a week, and it's so great to see Mum clean and sober, even better to see Daisy happy and growing and doing all the things that a girl should be doing. And Merlin's been absolutely aces. I've had to go to Asia a few times and he's had the plane rerouted to New Zealand, gives me a couple of days to spend with my girl so she doesn't forget her big bruv." Eggsy looks down, his expression sad. 

Harry can't bear to see Eggsy unhappy, so he goes for a bit of humor. "Merlin is a good man, but I'm going to have to tease him about the ball of mush he's got instead of a heart these days."

That earns him a smile. "Yeah, Merlin's the guv. He tries to pretend to be a hard ass, but it's pretty obvious that he cares about all of us."

Harry thinks that it's hard not to care about someone who's so reckless about giving his heart to everyone else.

Devon arrives with their order and Harry finds that he's actually hungry. There's something so delightful about sharing a small meal with Eggsy. Last night was special, but his attention had been split amongst the guests. Now he can enjoy the intimacy of breakfast with Eggsy, even on in a busy cafe. 

He swallows a sigh of pleasure and turns his attention to the food in front of him – a rack of toast and a soft boiled egg in a fitted cup. Harry spreads a thick layer of butter and then marmalade on the toast and lets it sit while he taps the egg with the back of a spoon. 

Eggsy had been wise to suggest going out. Harry can't forget about what happened this morning, but falling into that conversation first thing in the morning would have been ruinous. This interlude is a subtle way of making it clear that Eggsy doesn't seem to have a problem with what Harry had done, that there's no need to wallow in self-recrimination. They can discuss it like rational adults.

Or so Harry hopes.

They are almost done with breakfast when Eggsy looks up at him. His eyes widen and he's biting his lip. Harry can read the edge of a smile on Eggsy's lips.

"What's the matter?"

Eggsy makes a gesture, brushing his left eyelid.

Harry automatically copies it and comes away with a fingertip of eggy goo. 

"I think you must have gotten a little too fierce with the eggshell."

"And I wouldn't be wrong to think that there's now egg smeared over the patch, would I?"

Eggsy snickers. "I really can't take you anywhere, now, can I?"

Harry grins, "Don't think I've forgotten the last time we shared breakfast." Eggsy's table manners had been rather … rough, to be polite.

The attempt at humor falls a little flat. "That was the best morning before the worst day of my life, Haz. I haven't forgotten that meal. Or any moment that came after."

Harry looks down, once again ashamed of his anger later that day. "Eggsy – "

Eggsy reaches out and takes Harry's hand. "It's done, it's over. Against all of the odds, we survived. And forgive me for bringing it up."

Harry nods, "Nothing to forgive, my dear boy."

They finish up, and Devon hands the check to Eggsy, who looks at it and smiles. Harry lets Eggsy pay the tab, he has no choice since he has no money, and as they step out of the cafe, Eggsy tucks his arm into Harry's and they walk home without needing to say a single word.

The Mercedes is still parked in front and there's a ticket on the windshield. Eggsy takes it and tucks in into his pocket with a mournful frown. "I'll have someone from HQ collect this beauty and take it back. Eggsy's fingers skim across the bonnet. 

"There is a parking spot in a gated lot that comes with the house, didn't you know? I paid a fortune for it twenty years ago just because on-street parking here is a nightmare."

Eggsy shakes his head, "No, I didn't. How come you didn't mention this yesterday?"

Harry shrugs. "Had other things on my mind. Kingsman will take care of the ticket – you're on Kingsman business, after all."

They move the car to Harry's long disused parking spot and head inside. 

Harry wants to have the talk with Eggsy now, while he can still feel rational about it, before everything starts to fester in his head. He's about to say something when Eggsy's phone buzzes.

The caller is Merlin and Harry heads into the kitchen to give Eggsy some privacy. But the call lasts only long enough for Harry to let JB out in the back, and Eggsy joins him in the kitchen. 

"Merlin will be over in a few hours. He says he's fixed the problem with the router and we won't have to wait for a replacement box to ship from the spy version of Amazon."

Harry smiles. Eggsy's comment is undoubtedly a bit edited. But he doesn't let that distract him from what needs to be done.

"We have to talk, Eggsy."

"About what?" Eggsy sounds genuinely curious.

"About what happened this morning. What _almost_ happened." Harry hopes that Eggsy isn't going to play dumb to avoid the discussion.

"Ah." Eggsy lets out a tiny sigh. "Are you freaking out?"

"Slightly." Harry corrects himself. "No, not slightly. Significantly."

"Why?" 

"Eggsy, I assaulted you. You weren't awake, you weren't consenting. My only excuse is that I thought I was dreaming. You – "

Eggsy cuts him off. "I wanted everything you were doing to me. Even if you were dreaming. Because I was, too."

Harry shakes his head – "Eggsy – "

"Listen to me, Harry. The nights I don't have nightmares about what happened to you in Kentucky are the nights when I'm dreaming about you holding me and telling me much you want to fuck me. Or you _are_ fucking me. And swear down, those are the best nights, because I'd wake up and feel good and it'd take a few minutes before I'd remembered that you'd died." Eggsy shakes his head. "I wasn't planning on being so forthright about this – because I'm kind of making a leap in thinking that you'd been dreaming about me."

"I was." Harry's a little shocked that Eggsy could think otherwise. Perhaps as shocked as Harry himself thinking that Eggsy didn't want what he'd done to him this morning.

"And I was dreaming about you. So – what happened this morning isn't a big deal. The way I recall it, I was rubbing against you while you were rubbing against me. Two of us dreaming about each other. I'd say it was kind of a bit of serendipity, no?"

Harry takes a deep breath. "So, you're telling me that I'm getting worked up over nothing?"

Eggsy nods. "Yeah, that's it in a nutshell. This morning was …" Eggsy bites his lip and looks at Harry from under his eyelashes, a faint blush coloring his cheeks, "wonderful. I'm still pissed at Merlin for the interruption, but if you'd fucked me like you wanted to, I'd have been a very happy man."

But before Harry can say anything, before Harry can move forward, Eggsy's next word are like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head.

"But it can't happen again. Not until everything's settled with Kingsman, until you're cleared of the Lazarus Protocol."

"Why not?" Harry can't believe he's said that. This conversation feels like a massive role reversal. 

Eggsy gives him a shy look. "I've wanted you since the beginning. You looked like sex on a stick when you were waiting for me outside of Holborn. If you asked me to drop to my knees and suck you off right there, I would have. And then at the Black Prince, even before you splattered Dean's mutts all over the place, I still wanted you. You were a nasty, poncy, self-righteous son of a bitch to me, but I still wanted you. I didn't know you, and it was pure lust."

Harry thinks he understands what Eggsy's saying. 

"Then you told me you believed I could be something better and maybe that lust became something different."

"A desire to please?" Harry hopes he's not putting his foot in it. Ill thought out words could kill what's growing between them. 

But he hasn't. Eggsy agrees, his voice soft and a bit wary. "Yeah. All I wanted was to make you proud, to prove that you were right in picking me. That your faith in me wouldn't be wasted."

Harry's reminded of what Lancelot said to him last night, _"He uses you as a measuring stick, he thinks he's a failure if he doesn't succeed where you have. He's not trying to surpass you. Everything he does is an attempt to erase the stain of your disappointment in him."_ and again feels that surge of self-disgust at the memory of their last argument, when he'd told Eggsy that he'd only picked him to repay Lee. "And I destroyed that, didn't I?"

Eggsy shrugs. "It hurt and maybe it still does. I can't lie about that. There were nights when I'd dream that you would hold me and tell me that you hadn't meant it. That you regretted the lies, that you were nothing but proud of me. Those nights were wonderful, but also almost worse than dreaming about what happened in Kentucky because I couldn't let myself believe they were true."

"I am proud of you. What I said – "

Eggsy shakes his head. "I'm not telling you this so you can keep flaying yourself over what happened. What I'm trying to say is that we've got this history between us. Affection and obligation and lust and anger and a whole lot of grief. And it's not like we've ever really had a chance to spend time with each other. If we fall into bed without working through that, I think we're gonna fail. And I don't want us to fail. That is, if you want there to be an us, Harry. Because I'm going out on a limb here, thinking that you care about me a bit more than as some obligation to my dad."

"I do, Eggsy, too. When my memories came back, almost my first thought was of you. Wondering what had happened to you." Harry doesn't go so far as to admit to what he'd told Lancelot - he's not ready for that. "When I first saw you, when you came bursting into the boardroom at the shop like some avenging angel, I realized that nothing else mattered. I'd survive whatever Kingsman needed to dish out if it meant having you in my life." Harry takes a deep breath. "You mean the world to me, Eggsy. There is nothing I wouldn't do for you."

Harry's all too aware that Eggsy's glasses are recording, that Merlin is – or will be – listening to them. He doesn't care. "I want there to be an us. I'm selfish, I know, but if there's a chance for us, then I want to take it."

Eggsy smiles, and there are no words for how it makes Harry's feel. "Thank god, because I don't think I'd know what to do if you said you just wanted to be friends. Or if you were happy just being my mentor."

"Oh, I am very happy about that, Galahad." Harry's breath catches as Eggsy's eyes darken and he licks his lips. It occurs to Harry that this might be the first time he's referred to Eggsy by his well-earned code name. "I plan on being rather insufferable as I bask in your reflected glory." _And marvel at your wisdom._ "But I want you, I want to build a life with you, selfish old man that I am."

"You're not selfish, Harry. Or old."

"I'm twice your age, Eggsy." Harry can never forget that he'd been a decade older than Lee when Lee had been killed.

"And?" Eggsy has a mutinous look in his eyes. "That means nothing to me."

"Think of your future. What I'll be like in twenty years, what you'll be like." Harry doesn't want to push Eggsy away, but he has to be fair.

"You'll be an even sexier silver fox and I'll still be beating off all the twinks who think you're daddy as fuck and want to steal you away from me."

Harry blinks. "What?"

Eggsy grins. "Devon, at the cafe. That's what he wrote on the back of the check. He thinks you're daddy as fuck and if you happen to be in a market for a younger model with thinner thighs, I'm to give you his number."

Appalled, all Harry can say is "Your thighs are perfect. And Devon needs to mind his own business and find his own daddy." 

Eggsy gets a bit of a possessive glint in his eye. "Absolutely. Not that I think of you as 'daddy'. More like that fucking hot professor who's going to give me an F unless I get ... "

Harry taps his temple, reminding Eggsy that his glasses are recording and Eggsy just bursts out laughing. When he recovers, Eggsy touches Harry's cheek. "You're mine, Harry Hart. Nothing's ever going to take you away from me again."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Merlin arrives a few hours later and says nothing about what he might have overheard since this morning. Harry's grateful for his old friend's discretion, at least until he takes Eggsy aside and says something that makes the boy turn beet red.

Eggsy mutters something back and Merlin just laughs and pats him on the shoulder. Eggsy excuses himself, announcing that he's going for a run. He disappears upstairs for a few minutes and comes back down, dressed – or rather barely dressed – in skimpy nylon running shorts and a cotton tee shirt as thin as the one he'd worn to bed last night. This one, though, is nearly skintight and Harry doesn't have to use his imagination to see Eggsy's nipples. The cotton looks like it's been painted on, clinging to the carved definition of his abdominals and pectorals, and as Eggsy turns to leave; his beautiful back is just as lovingly displayed.

Harry catches Merlin staring, and give his friend a kick in the ankle. "You should be thankful I'm not wearing a pair of Kingsman oxfords."

Merlin just laughs. "Ye can't blame a man for appreciating what's in front of him, can ye?"

Harry growls. "He's mine."

"Aren't ye the possessive one?" Merlin smirks at him. "Ye keep threatening me, I may just have to rethink yer future with Kingsman."

Harry keeps his tongue, because right now – at this moment – he's ready to tell Merlin to take his cameras and shove them up his arse. 

Merlin doesn't say anything else, except to tell Harry to come with him as he goes from room to room with his tablet, testing the feeds from the dozens of cameras that had been installed. It's tedious, but it reminds Harry that so much of a spy's job is tedious. It's more watching and waiting than anything.

About an hour later, Eggsy comes back, so soaked in sweat that even his running shorts are nearly transparent. Harry almost chokes on his tongue. Merlin snickers. Eggsy pretends not to notice that his boss is acting like a teenaged twat and heads to the bathroom to shower. He comes downstairs and again, Harry almost chokes on his tongue. Eggsy's wearing trousers, a white button down and a _fucking_ cardigan, which might have come out of Harry's wardrobe. 

Merlin looks from Harry, in _his_ cardigan, to Eggsy and just shakes his head.

Eventually, Merlin pronounces himself satisfied with the setup. "I thought about putting all of the cameras on constant record, but that would require more bandwidth that we'd normally allocate to the surveillance of a major embassy. So I've set them to activation on motion detection, except for the cameras in the bedrooms. Those will be constantly recording, and will switch over to night-vision as needed." Merlin gives them both a hard look. "Ye have any problems with this?"

Eggsy's quick to answer. "Not much different than when I was a candidate, living in the dorms. And if this is what it takes to get Harry back into Kingsman, I have no problems."

"Harry, what about ye? Any questions?"

Harry does. "Who will be watching the feeds? You said you don't want anyone to know I'm back just yet, and I must imagine that you've got better things to do than watched me go about my day."

"Fair question. For the next three weeks, it'll either be me or Lancelot or Percival watching, unless either of those two are on assignment. After that, I'll be making a general announcement to the staff that you've been returned to us, and that ye've passed the medical and debriefing parts of the Lazarus Protocol. Once it's general knowledge that ye're alive and well, ye'll be watched by any number of different people. Agents, technical staff, medical staff if I think it's necessary."

Harry nods. It's pretty much as he'd said to Eggsy yesterday, whatever minimal privacy Kingsman had affording him – _them_ – is gone for the foreseeable future.

Merlin adds, "Ye don't have to stay in town, as long as Eggsy's with ye. Ye can go anywhere in England if ye want, as long as ye let me know."

Harry's surprised. "That's very generous of you."

Merlin shrugs. "I'm just trying to find out if ye've been compromised, Harry." Eggsy makes some unhappy noises about that and Merlin shushes him with a gesture. "If ye'r meeting with an enemy agent, I'm going to know about it one way or another. Keeping ye restricted to London isn't going to stop ye. Eggsy'll have eyes on ye at all times." At that, Merlin produces a pair of glasses. "These are for ye, Harry."

Harry takes them. The left lens is blacked out, which means he can take off the eye patch. He puts them on and although he doesn't need a prescription lens, as they settle on his face, everything snaps into tight focus. More than anything – more than the modified wristwatch, the shoes with poisoned knives, even the Rainmaker, these glasses are an essential component of being a Kingsman. Putting them on makes him feel like Harry Hart, Super Spy, even if he knows those days are behind him.

"Those are set to transmit only, unless I initiate an override. You'll wear them all the time, except for sleeping."

"And what else is new?"

Merlin sniffs. "I should be getting back. There are more important things to do than to help you two play Happy Families."

Eggsy laughs and shows Merlin out. Harry heads into the kitchen. He can really use a cup of tea right now.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	7. The Fear of Emptiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Eggsy settle into domestic life, their happiness unalloyed and nearly perfect.

It doesn't take long for Harry to settle into the life of a gentleman at leisure. Once, he'd dreaded the thought of doing nothing for endless stretches of time; the word "retirement" had been anathema to him. For as long as he'd been a Kingsman, Harry had prayed to meet his end in the field.

And now that he'd actually done that – Eggsy had mentioned that there's an empty grave and a finished headstone at the Kingsman estate – he finds that retirement isn't as bad as he'd feared. Perhaps it's because he knows that this should be only a temporary hiatus. Even though his spying days are over, he'll be picking up the threads of a new career soon enough. Harry finds himself thinking about the Kingsman training programs, and not only that, but how Kingsman recruited. Not just agents, but support personnel, field staff, all of the people that supported the dozen agents that sat at the table. And it's more than thinking. He starts making notes, and when Eggsy notices, Harry starts sharing his ideas.

And that's like setting a match to kindling. The ideas fly back and forth, and Eggsy, with his relatively recent experience as an agent candidate, gives Harry a perspective that thirty year old memories cannot. Harry can't remember the last time he'd had this much fun that didn't involve bloodshed, mayhem and destruction.

He's careful not to ask questions about Kingsman's day-to-day operations, and while Eggsy paints a picture of a well-run organization that finally has a leader with vision, he offers no specifics.

Harry starts therapy exactly one week after he'd walked into the tailor shop. His therapist, Doctor Victoria Strass, is a woman about his age. At first, she seems like every other therapist he'd been required to see over the years – coolly competent and ready to give him a pass as soon as he says he's done. At the end of the third session, Harry puts on his most winning smile and says, "So, we're finished? You'll sign off on my mental health?"

She grins and Harry suddenly feels like he's been swimming with a shark. "Not at all, Mr. Hart. We've barely begun. You've got a lot to do to convince me that you're not emotionally compromised." 

The physical therapy is easier, if only because it leaves him too tired for nightmares. It also affords Harry a chance to luxuriate in some eye candy. Since the sessions are private, Eggsy's taken to joining him at the facility and when he's not needed to provide assistance, Eggsy provides encouragement by using the resistance equipment while wearing as little as possible.

It isn't only the PT where Eggsy provides visual incentive for Harry. Almost two weeks into this new life, Harry wakes up to a strange rhythmic sound. He gets up and tries to locate the noise, but it's not coming from inside. Harry returns to his bedroom and realizes that it's coming from the garden. He looks down and sees Eggsy working with a speed rope. The vantage point isn't good and Harry's feeling particularly shameless. He puts on their shared robe and heads downstairs, to the kitchen and then to the back door, where he can watch Eggsy up close and personal.

Eggsy finishes with the speed rope and starts in on some basic calisthenics – likely a routine he'd learned in military training – jumping jacks, squat-thrusts, sit-ups and push-ups. It's only when Eggsy starts doing push-ups one handed, with JB perched on his shoulders, that Harry realizes that Eggsy's showing off for him. 

_A mate proving his fitness._

Harry is very appreciative of the display. So is his cock.

Eggsy finishes up and JB jumps down and runs inside, making a beeline for his water bowl, as if he'd been the one who'd been expending energy. Eggsy rolls up his exercise mat and stows it away before coming inside.

He gives Harry a look, probably noticing the not-so-slight bulge in below the belt. No, not probably. Definitely. Eggsy's smile isn't a smirk, it's too appreciative. They stand there, not quite trapped in the small space in front of the doorway, and Eggsy does the unexpected and presses a light kiss against Harry's cheek and whispers, "Thanks for the ego boost."

He slips past a very bemused Harry and heads upstairs.

JB finishes drinking and looks like he's just gone for a swim. Harry rolls up his sleeves, grabs the dog's towel, and cleans him up. For his pains, Harry gets a faceful of dog breath and damp slippers as he steps into the puddle JB created during his slobbering at the water bowl.

He puts JB down, "Go rest, Mr. Bauer, you've earned it." The pug scampers off, likely to his bed in the living room, and Harry takes care of the mess on the floor. In this respect, JB is an improvement over Mr. Pickle, who'd had some significant incontinence problems all his life. He'd tended to piddle whenever he'd heard a loud noise, likely a side effect of getting shot at, point blank.

Before going back upstairs to get dressed, Harry puts up the water for tea and a few slices of bread in the toaster. Today is a free day for him – no PT, no therapist session at the shop. Eggsy had mentioned an interesting exhibit at the British Museum, so perhaps they'd spend the day there. It's been quite a while since Harry's had the luxury of enjoying a museum just for the exhibits, and not part of some mission. There had been a time when it seemed that every assignment required a handoff in some out of the way museum gallery, or more often, a "chance meeting" in a men's room where data would be exchanged via mutual hand jobs.

He passes Eggsy on his way to his bedroom and is rewarded with the sight of the young man wearing nothing but a damp towel around his hips and a few droplets of water clinging to his skin. Harry can't help but remember watching the results of the drowning test, seeing Eggsy soaked to the skin. On several occasions, he'd masturbated to the still that Merlin had so kindly provided.

"I thought we'd agreed that I get the robe on Thursdays." Eggsy's grinning, obviously oblivious to Harry's dirty thoughts.

"While I don't believe we've come to a formal agreement, far be it from me to deny you your own property." Harry takes off the robe and with a tiny bit of ceremony, drapes it around Eggsy's shoulders, pulling him close. It's hard not to think of just how intimate this is.

But apparently Eggsy does. Even in the dim hallway lighting, Harry can see Eggsy's eyes darken, his nostrils flare. "Haz – you're making this really difficult."

Harry just raises an eyebrow. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You're teasing me."

"And you're not? Exercising in those skimpy clothes, doing those one-armed push-ups. You've been showing off."

Eggsy bites his lip. "Been hoping you'd notice."

"Oh, my dear boy, I can't help but notice. You've been putting on quite a show for me. So I'd say that you're making it difficult for me, too."

Eggsy sighs and his eyes drift upwards, towards a camera. "He's watching, you know."

"Let him." Harry is staring at Eggsy's lips and when Eggsy's tongue peeps out to lick them, Harry can't take it anymore. He kisses Eggsy with all of the love and lust and longing that he's kept bottled up for no good reason at all.

And Eggsy kisses him back, with undeniable desire.

Harry sheds the veneer of gentlemanly restraint and just _devours_ Eggsy's mouth, pushing him against the wall and holding him there with his body. As Harry relishes the feel of so much hot, smooth skin under his hands, he wants to let the beast that always lives under his skin come out and play.

It seems that Eggsy might have his own beast, too. His hands are hot and seeking, pulling at Harry's pajama top, ripping at the fabric. "I need your skin."

Harry helps and they're half-naked in the hallway, under the watchful eye of a half-dozen of Kingsman's finest cameras. Well, Harry's half-naked. Eggsy's completely naked – the robe Harry had draped around him and the towel that had been wrapped around Eggsy's waist are now puddles of fabric at their feet.

It would be so easy to fuck Eggsy, to take and take and keep taking. He could fuck Eggsy against the wall right now; just take him raw and unready. Harry knows that Eggsy will give him everything, despite he's request that they hold off for a while. It feels a bit too much like Kentucky and that kills his desire instantly.

He breaks off the kiss, but Eggsy chases his mouth, and when he can't get to it, he starts pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along Harry's throat and neck, biting down on his shoulder. Harry almost gives in when Eggsy whimpers in frustration. He _could_ do this, he could shove the memories away and give in.

But he doesn't, and he makes a determined effort to step away. 

"Harry?" Eggsy reaches out to him.

Harry takes Eggsy's hand and presses a kiss into his palm. "We agreed to wait."

Eggsy lets out a shuddering breath and bangs the back of his head against the wall. "Yeah. Why did I think that would be a good idea?"

"Because it is." Harry picks up the robe, drapes it over Eggsy. He can't have the conversation when Eggsy's standing there, the personification of temptation. "I want you, in every possible way. But …"

"But what?" 

Harry looks down, avoiding Eggsy's gaze. "I almost lost control."

Eggsy seems to understand. "And my teasing ain't helping."

"No – no. This isn't your fault. It all me – it's …" Harry shakes his head. "I've been very cavalier about what happened in Kentucky. Since I regained my memory, I've told myself that those terrible people were dead the moment that Valentine decided to use them as guinea pigs. But that doesn't erase my culpability. I killed forty people and walked away."

"You had no control over what happened."

"Exactly. As ironic as it may be, I was utterly helpless."

Eggsy gets it – Harry can see that from the slump in his shoulders, the grief in his eyes. "And losing control, even when it's safe and you wouldn't be doing anything I don't want, brings that feeling back." Eggsy puts the robe on, belts it tightly and meets Harry's gaze full on. "I will wait for you, Harry Hart. For as long as you need me to."

Harry's almost moved to tears. "Oh, my darling Eggsy. What have I done to deserve your understanding?"

"You were dead, Harry. I was supposed to spend the rest of my life wondering what could have been between us. But we've got a second chance. What's waiting a few weeks when there's a beautiful future in front of us?"

Harry doesn't think about everything that could take Eggsy away from him, all the dangers that he knows are out there, waiting to steal their beautiful future. He'd spent a lifetime closed off from even the possibility of love because he'd feared loss too much. He's not going to repeat that mistake.

Harry leans in and places a tender kiss on Eggsy's lips. "I still don't think I deserve you."

Eggsy rests against him. "We can argue about that until the universe burns out. But right now, let's get dressed?"

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

They don't end up at the British Museum that afternoon. After breakfast, which had been as normal as any other morning, Eggsy finds Harry staring at the terrible artwork that lines the staircase.

Eggsy joins him. "Problem, Haz?"

Harry's resigned himself to that terrible nickname; he knows that Eggsy only uses it when everything in his world is right. "Just thinking about how ugly and dreary all of this is." He gestures at the dozens of paintings of dogs and dead animals.

"You don't like them anymore?"

"Anymore? I don't think I ever liked them."

"Then why did you hang all of them here?"

"Because I'm a gentleman and I tried to be a good son. When my mother moved out of her house in London, she insisted that I take the 'best pieces'. So I did and of course, I had to display them."

"In case your mum visited and wanted to see them, right?"

"Exactly. I could have taken them down any time in the last fifteen years, since she passed, but honestly, I've been lazy."

"So you just lived with them? Easier than finding something else?"

"Yes. And honestly, I've never really _lived_ here. It had mostly been a place to park myself between missions."

Eggsy stands next to him, hands in his pockets. He rocks back on his heels and shakes his head. "And here I was, thinking that I'd been preserving everything that you loved."

"There's a lot that I had loved and am rather pleased that you kept."

"The butterflies? Mr. Pickle?" Eggsy offers with laughter in his voice.

"Chief amongst them."

"So, do you'd want to get rid all of this?" Eggsy waves a hand at the display.

"As I keep reminding you, it's not mine anymore. If you like it, it should stay."

"Haz, it's fucking ugly and depressing and I have to tell you that I kind of wondered at your taste."

Harry laughs, feeling a little sad. "I guess it just grew on me and seemed normal – it was what I lived with growing up, every wall covered in depressing artwork."

"Then let's take it down, put something else up."

"Or maybe leave the space empty. One shouldn't be afraid of blank walls."

That earns him another of Eggsy's laughs. "Yeah, it sure looks like you had that phobia." He pulls out his mobile and looks up something. "What do you know, there's a term for that condition. Two terms, actually. _Horror vacui_ and _kenophobia_."

"One's Latin, the other Greek." Harry's actually familiar with the first one. "I think _horror vacui_ was used to describe the suffocating clutter of Victorian interior design. A style that I seem to have unwittingly embraced."

"Yeah, you can say that again." Eggsy bite his lip and asks, "So, when would you want to get started?"

"How about now?" Since Eggsy seems to hate the art as much as he does, Harry finds he can't bear to look at it a moment longer. He starts with the pieces at the lower part of the staircase, handing them to Eggsy one at a time. Then two at a time. The walls, of course, show the faded outlines of the paintings, but that's something they'll only have to live with for a short while. Once the cameras come down, everything will need to be repainted, at Kingsman's expense, of course.

It doesn't take long to strip the walls bare, but Harry finds himself immensely satisfied.

Eggsy, though, is all too practical. "What do we do with this? I'm figuring that this ain't stuff that we can just drop off at OxFam or a local church for their holiday bazaar."

"Don't worry about it. I know someone who'll be more than happy to take everyone on consignment for auction. Which is what I should have done with it twenty years ago, instead of letting my mother bully me into hanging the lot."

"Were you close?"

Eggsy's question is innocent, but the feelings it arouses are far too complicated. 

"At times. And I'd always been much closer to her than to my father." Harry pauses, debating how much information he should share, and then decides, _all of it._ "Although my mother was of noble lineage, that didn't matter as much as my father's sense of class and order. He'd been a gentleman of the old school, with all of a gentleman's finest qualities. He believed in the absolute superiority of his class and gathered to him all of the entitlements a man of good birth could possibly claim. He never smiled or laughed or thanked anyone, because such things where beneath him. And naturally, he drank to excess behind closed doors and thought nothing of beating the shit out of his wife and son when he thought they were not living up to his standards. But never on the face. Couldn't let the neighbors know, after all. When I was sixteen, I told my father I said I wanted to study butterflies. He took a horsewhip to my back until I changed my mind. I was nineteen when he obliged my mother by having a fatal heart attack in the middle of a tirade over the quality of the Christmas roast."

Harry can't quite believe what he's just revealed. He's never told anyone this, not even Merlin.

_"Harry –"_ Eggsy sounds on the verge of tears as he wraps his arms around him. "Harry, I'm so sorry."

He rests his head against Eggsy's and savors the warmth, the compassion. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have burdened you with this."

"It's no burden. You don't think I don't know how that feels?"

Harry sighs. "Of course you do." Maybe he only told Eggsy because Eggsy could actually understand. "I usually do my best to forget about him, and it's gotten easier as the years have passed. But …" He can't quite put the feeling into words.

"But it always lives with you. It's always there, inside you, like some cancer. You know that the boogieman's gone, but you're still frightened of him."

Harry finds a terrible truth in those words. "Thank you, Eggsy."

"For what?" Eggsy looks up at him, his eyes soft with unshed tears.

"For being so wise, so loving."

Eggsy sniffs. "Yeah, well." He turns in Harry's arms and deftly changes the subject. "So, what do we do with all of this until you talk to your guy?"

"We could put it in the office or the library?" Harry's still curious about what's kept behind that locked door.

"Office is good. I really don't use it much."

"Oh?" Harry's as nonchalant as he could ever be.

Eggsy shrugs. "Never really felt like it was my space to use, you know what I mean? If there's any room in this house that screams 'Harry Hart Lived Here', it's the office."

"I saw that you've added your own broadsheets."

"Yeah, but it's still not really my space. I'll usually work in the library if I'm bringing stuff home."

_Ah. That explains the still-locked door._

They work in tandem and eventually all of the ugly artwork is stacked against the baseboards in the office. Harry asks if he can look in the drawers and Eggsy raises an eyebrow in disgust at the request. Harry's a little surprised to find that everything is just the way he'd left it. Not because Eggsy had been preserving this house as a memorial to Harry Hart, but he'd figured that Merlin would have sent people over to remove any interesting personal items.

There's a small stack of business cards with a rubber band wrapped around them, from various art dealers and booksellers and collectors he'd encountered in his travels. Not people he'd thought to cultivate as assets, but people he found interesting or useful in a personal way. Including an art dealer who specialized in pictures of dead things. He hands that card to Eggsy, hoping the man had survived V-Day.

"I'll have Merlin vet him, unless that's not necessary."

"No, it's necessary. Davis Carlyle is one of the most self-interested men I've ever met, and while I don't think he poses a security threat, there's no reason not to take precautions."

Eggsy nods. "Especially if he's going to be coming here."

"So, what would you like to do for the rest of the day?" It's a little after three – too late for lunch and too early for supper. "I seem to have done a good job of scuttling any plans for the afternoon."

"How about a walk? I haven't taken JB to the park for a scamper in a while and he's getting lazy. We can work up an appetite and I'll cook dinner for us."

Harry's not the least bit shy about taking advantage of Eggsy's culinary skills. "Lemon chicken?"

Eggsy's agreeable. "We'll have to stop at the market on the way home, but that sounds manageable."

Harry then offers, "If you want to instruct, I'll be the one to cook."

"You've got a deal, Haz."

This is all part of the growing pattern of their life together, and Harry is treasuring every minute. A week or so after they had begun to settle into this happy shared life in Stanhope Mews, Eggsy reminds him that eventually, he's going to be back on mission rotation. He suggests that it's well past time that Harry learns to cook for himself instead of relying on take-away.

Harry had agreed (much to Eggsy's delight) and becomes Eggsy's willing pupil in some basic cooking lessons. Eggsy turns out to be is a surprisingly good teacher with an endless well of patience. It's not that Harry doesn't understand the basics of cooking or how to get around a kitchen, it's just that he's never had the time or particularly enjoyed cooking for himself - it had seemed such a lonely and pointless task. But now, under Eggsy's watchful eye, Harry delights in demonstrating his excellent knife skills and takes pleasure in doing a bit of butchery. 

And yet, it's not the meal preparation that Harry truly loves. He finds he really enjoys is baking, and has taken to exploring the wealth of on-line resources now available. 

Every time Harry bakes, he wishes he had better appliances to work with, like an oven with convection and a proofing drawer. He wonders if Eggsy would be up for a complete kitchen remodel - marble countertops are a baker's joy, better lighting, a pot-filler over the range.

At that, Harry starts to laugh. He's become a domestic goddess, a one-eye'd Nigella Lawson.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

It is a sad day when their domestic isolation comes to an end. Exactly three weeks after Harry had made his grand entrance into the tailor shop, Merlin announces Harry's miraculous return to the land of the living.

The announcement does state that Harry is still under the Lazarus Protocol and will not be permitted back at HQ until further notice, but he would more than delighted to see his friends and colleagues at the house in Stanhope Mews.

Harry wants to kills Merlin. Slowly, with a dull butter knife and disco music playing in the background. That announcement puts paid to his lovely, quiet existence with Eggsy, as Kingsman agents start beating a path to his door. _Eggsy's_ door.

Gawain is the first to arrive, all but sending Harry crashing as he pulls him into a crushing hug and lets him go only after all the oxygen has been squeezed from his lungs. Kay and Bedivere and Ector arrive an hour later. The rest of the week is like a visitation during an Irish wake – there's certainly enough alcohol flowing and the constant stream of visitors gives Harry a chance to test out some of his new-found baking skills on an appreciative audience. It's gratifying to learn that he's been sincerely missed by his colleagues; he'd worked with many of them for decades, but had only considered Merlin a friend.

Of course, Harry realizes that they are checking him out, trying to ascertain where he'd been and how he'd survived. Eggsy, gallant to a point and then not hesitant about making a point with a sharp object in his hand, lets the visitors know that this information is classified and when Arthur deems it right and proper, he'll tell them. Until then, guests are to stop badgering Harry with questions he should not answer.

After nine days of constant entertaining, Harry is exhausted and Eggsy looks like he's at the end of his patience.

"You know, Merlin did say we don't have to stay in London. And I've still got the Merc garaged. What do you say we head out town for a while?"

Harry doesn't have to think twice. "Where would you like to go?"

"It's November, so the seashore is probably a bad idea."

"Well, it would be rather uninhabited, which isn't a bad thing if we just want to get away from it all." Harry can see, though, that the idea doesn't really appeal to Eggsy. "But the seashore in November will be sadly bleak and uninviting. Does the Lake District appeal?"

"As in 'I wandered lonely as a cloud'?"

Harry is delighted. "As I said that first night, you're full of surprises."

"What, you didn't think I'd ever quote Wordsworth to you?"

"Honestly, no."

"And honestly, that's pretty much the only Wordsworth I know. Or remember. They really didn't spend much time on poetry in the school I went to."

Harry's quick to reassure him, "But you remembered the association between the poem and the Lake District, which is probably more than ninety-nine percent of Oxbridge graduates could remember." 

"So, Lake District? You know of a place where we can stay?"

"Actually, you have a place."

Eggsy blinks. "You're shitting me, right?"

"I shit you not. I inherited my grandparents' vacation cottage on Lake Windermere, which means that you're now the rightful owner. I should have suggested that in the first place."

"Um, Harry – how many houses did I inherit?"

Harry makes a pretense of thinking. "This place, the cottage I just mentioned, and a villa in Tuscany. That's all the houses."

Eggsy rolls his eyes. "Thank god."

"But, you only asked about houses." Harry's enjoying this. "If you count the various pied-à-terres, there are apartments in Paris and Rome and Shanghai." Harry rattles off a half-dozen other cities and enjoys the utterly appalled look on Eggsy's face. "Most of them are investment properties – completely managed through real estate trusts and all you do is collect the rent. Some of them are even leased to Kingsman as safe houses."

"Harry – please let me give those back to you. What am I going to do with a real estate empire?"

Harry presses a soft kiss to Eggsy's forehead. "I said no backsies and I meant it. I find it extraordinarily freeing to be so unencumbered." Harry leaves a dumbfounded Eggsy to the sole possession of the living room. It is his, after all.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note on some headcasting. Harry's therapist is played by Kristin Scott Thomas. Bors is played by Ioan Gruffudd. My lovely artist, Stravaganza, as used them in the moodboard that accompanies this chapter.


	8. I Wandered Lonely As a Cloud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Eggsy head out of London for their much needed vacation. On the drive up to the Lake Country, Eggsy shares an interesting little tidbit and they make a decision about their relationship.

Two days later, Harry and Eggsy escape the well-meaning curiosity of the Kingsman staff, who keep coming up with ever more creative reasons to visit the house in Stanhope Mews. Harry physiotherapist has been him cleared for some gentle hiking on the condition that he keep up with his exercises, and his psychotherapist has agreed to suspend sessions for no more than three weeks, but should call her if he needs an urgent consultation.

Eggsy, of course, will need to check in with Merlin regularly, but for all intents and purposes, the two of them are heading out on an unencumbered vacation to one of the most scenic places in England. 

Of course, Merlin's assured them that the house is in good condition, that the caretakers have stocked it properly and will be there to turn over the keys on their arrival.

Once they leave London and its environs behind, Eggsy completely disregards the speed limit and opens up the throttle on the Merc. Again, Harry finds himself mildly aroused by Eggsy's casual display of competence and confidence.

"How long has it been since you been there?"

Harry has to think. "Maybe seven years? I had gone up there after a somewhat difficult mission in Kosovo. I was put on mandatory leave for two months. The cottage had been a good place to lick my wounds."

" _Somewhat difficult?_ You were kidnapped and tortured for two weeks. Those bastards nearly killed you."

"Ah, so you know about that missoin." Harry tilts his head back, enjoying the feel of the sun on his face and the smooth power of the car under his body.

"Yeah. I spent a lot of time with your reports – I know about most of your missions, Haz. Merlin said all new knights are supposed to review their predecessor's files and learn from their mistakes. Get to know how they succeeded, where they failed."

"I like to think I had more successes than failures."

Eggsy laughs. "Is this an instance where a gentleman never boasts of his successes? Because you've got to know that you hold a lot of records. Most number of successful missions with the least number of civilian casualties. Most number of successful assassinations. Galahad, fifth of his name, is a fucking legend."

"Well, I do hope that I've made a difference." Harry is feeling oddly modest. He knows just what a difference he's made in the world – there are walls filled with broadsheets commemorating disasters that didn't happen.

"Too fucking right."

Harry's learned that Eggsy tends to overuse expletives when he's under stress, or in moments of high emotion. "What's the matter?"

Eggsy doesn't answer right away. He puts the Merc into high gear and passes a large lorry and then leaves it in the dust.

"Eggsy?"

Eggsy downshifts, cruising at something less than twice the speed limit. "You know what other record you hold?"

Harry sighs. "I take it from your tone that it's not one you think I should be particularly proud of."

"Yeah, right. That it ain't." Eggsy upshifts again, this time to pass a minivan.

"So, are you going to tell me what I should be ashamed of?"

"Do you know you hold the record for the number of near-death events?"

"Well, considering these past two years…"

"No, _not_ considering these past two years, Harry. Before I met you, you'd been injured to near death over a dozen times. Sometimes from getting a bullet in the back during a firefight, sometimes from being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sometimes from torture – like what happened Kosovo, which wasn't 'somewhat difficult'. The separatist group you'd been trying to break up almost beat you to death. I read the notes from the extraction team – they were surprised you were still breathing when they found you. You coded twice on the flight home and twice during surgery. And you just kept brushing it off and walking away."

"It's what Kingsman do, Eggsy. We have to be resilient. We can't let the events of a single mission overwhelm us."

"Harry, I know what Kingsman do and I know just how resilient Kingsman are supposed to be. But you're in a league of your own. I've also spent a lot of time reading other agents' files. There's no one – active or retired or deceased – that comes close to surviving the damage that's been inflicted on you."

"But I survived. That's what counts." Harry hopes Eggsy can understand. "And this is why I'm looking forward to taking over the training. I know that I'm not going to be fit for active duty anymore. Frankly, I would like to enjoy the rest of my life." He puts a careful hand over Eggsy's as it rests on the gear shift. "I'm looking forward to the rest of my life. Training new Kingsman staff. Being with you."

"Good. Because I don't think I'd survive another one of your deaths."

"I don't plan on dying for a very long time, since I intend to live long enough to see you become Arthur." 

Eggsy nearly loses control of the Merc. "What the fuck, Harry?"

"I think, in time, that you'd make a magnificent Arthur. Perhaps the best one in Kingsman's history."

Eggsy laughs. "You're taking the piss, Haz. Ain't no way I'm Arthur material."

"Perhaps not right now, but the seeds are there. I've been watching you with people. You gather respect the way a squirrel gathers nuts. You and Lancelot are the future of Kingsman, and while Lancelot may have more social polish, she doesn't have your …" Harry pauses to find the perfect word, "humanity. That's what Chester always lacked and that's what Kingsman needs in a leader. Otherwise, we might as well be MI-6 or the CIA."

Eggsy doesn't reply and Harry lets him drive. He closes his eye and falls into a meditative state, imagining Eggsy twenty years in the future. He's probably be even more polished, a blade with an infinitely dangerous edge – that's what Kingsman will have made him – but he'd still retain the best parts of the young man Harry had always been enamored of. His warmth and humanity, his infinitely caring heart, the need to help and nurture those he cares would only become greater, more deeply engrained. 

"What are you thinking about, Haz? You're smiling."

"About you, my dear boy. How wonderful you are. How fearless you are, how generous and strong and loving. You are the best that Kingsman has to offer."

"Only because of you, you know that?"

"Mmm, perhaps."

"It's not just because you saw the potential in me, you know. I'm strong and brave for another reason."

Harry doesn't bother to open his eye. He's enjoying the almost surreal nature of this conversation. "Oh? And what is that reason?" 

"I wear your undershorts."

Now Harry opens his eye. He's not sure he heard Eggsy correctly. "What? What did you say?"

"I said I wear your shorts. The nice black boxer briefs. They give me confidence. I'm wearing a pair right now." There's laughter in Eggsy's voice, but something else too.

"I don't know what to say to that." That is the absolute truth.

"Because it's beyond creepy? Me wearing a dead man's shorts?"

"More that you're wearing a not-dead man's shorts, Eggsy. I can probably understand why you did it when you'd thought I was dead. But I'm not dead. And it's not creepy, just a little … kinky."

"Does it turn you on?" Eggsy asks as he upshifts and passes another lorry. 

Harry glances at the speedometer and they are traveling at a hundred seventy kilometers an hour. "Yes. As much are your driving does. But for different reasons."

"Oh?"

Harry's enjoying having this conversation in a speeding car. He's always had a danger kink. "I find myself sexually excited by your display of competence. All the more so because I know you're not showing off for me – which I always enjoy – but doing something that comes as naturally as breathing. It's stunning."

"Teasing a man like that when he's got over five hundred horsepower under his foot, not wise, Haz. Not wise at all."

"Not teasing you. Just stating a fact."

Eggsy lets the conversation drop and Harry closes his eye again. He's almost somnolent when Eggsy says, "Been thinking."

"About what?"

"About holding off."

"From sex?"

"Yeah. We've gotten a chance to really get to know each other the last month. I'm pretty sure that nothing else I learn about you is going to change how I feel."

"And I must say the same. I thought you were wise to suggest we hold off, but I think at this point, holding off really doesn't get us anything other than two matching sets of blue balls."

Eggsy's shout of laughter is a sound of pure joy. "I love when you drop the posh butter-won't-melt-in-your-mouth act and show me just how vulgar you really are."

Harry chuckles and thinks of the practicalities. "We'll need to stop at a chemist's."

"Already taken care of, Haz."

Harry doesn't think this conversation could get any better. "Rather presumptuous, isn't that?"

"More like I was optimistic that I could change your mind. The only question is, are you still worried about losing control?"

Harry is, and perhaps he'll always be. But he can't let that stop him. "Do you trust me, Eggsy?"

"Yeah, Harry. I do – with everything."

"Then I think we'll be fine. After all, limits must be tested."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"That ain't no vacation cottage, Harry. That's a fucking mansion." Eggsy's parked the Merc and just stares out the windshield.

Harry looks up at the rather grand stone edifice and sighs. "Well, yes. I can agree to that."

"How many bedrooms?" 

"Six, I think, plus servants' quarters. My maternal great-grandfather had the original structure built after he came back from the Boer War. Ostensibly it was for my great-grandmother, but it was more of a retreat for him."

"That was a pretty fucked up war. We weren't much better than the Americans in Vietnam."

"Probably worse. I read my great-grandfather's diaries; he'd never fully recovered from the horrors he'd seen and taken part in. This place, though, had helped him heal." It had helped Harry heal, too.

"A lot of room to ramble around it."

"Well, it was a bit smaller originally." Harry points out the lines of the basic structure. "But when my grandfather was a little boy, his parents had started adding on to the house. My great-grandmother had loved to entertain and back in the day, it hadn't been uncommon for people to take months' long holidays in their friend's homes. Shall we go in?"

The caretakers, a surprisingly young female couple, come out to great them. "Mr. Unwin?" They look to Harry who just grins and points at Eggsy.

"He's Mr. Unwin, the new owner." Harry doesn't say that he's the _old_ owner.

Eggsy just shakes his head before holding out his hand in greeting. "You've been watching over the place?"

"Yes. I'm Sylvia and this is my wife, Loretta. We actually live in the village, but come up here a few times a week to check on everything, get it ready for holiday renters. I think this is the first time you've been up here, no?"

Eggsy doesn't bother with a posh accent when he replies, "Yeah, it is. It looks like you've done a nice job keeping the place up to snuff." 

"Well, we've always been able to get repairs done. Your lawyers are very good about paying the bills and providing funds for upkeep and maintenance."

Eggsy looks over at Harry. Harry just smiles, as innocent as a newborn.

"Well, we'll get out of your hair and let you enjoy your holiday. The fridge is stocked, all of the rooms have been aired out and I think you'll want these." Sylvia hands Eggsy a keyring. "Just leave the keys at the post office when you're on your way back to London. And if you see anything you think needs work, something we might have missed, leave a note and we'll make sure it's done."

"Ta. Thanks."

Sylvia and Loretta take off in a late model Mini Countryman and Harry ushers Eggsy inside with a hand at the small of his back.

Harry has always loved this place. Filled with light and lacking clutter, it's diametrically opposite of the stultifying Victorian home he'd grown up in. "I don't know why I never spent more time here."

"Too busy being Harry Hart, Super Spy?"

"Yes. I would only come here when I was on forced leave – when time was too heavy to spend in London. I'd lick my wounds; find some peace walking out on the dales."

"Like your great-grandfather?"

"Perhaps." Harry heads up the grand, sweeping staircase. "But that should change, now. I hope you'll come here regularly – or as regularly as your schedule will allow."

" _We'll_ come here regularly. This whole thing about me inheriting your stuff is fine on a technical level, but I'm never going to consider this mine."

Harry knows that this is an argument he's not going to win, so he concedes the field. At least for the moment. "And here's the master bedroom." He pushes open a set of double doors and waits for Eggsy's reaction.

"Jesus, Harry." Eggsy heads over to the floor-to-ceiling bank of windows that overlook Lake Windermere. "Why the hell would you stay away from this? It's fucking magnificent."

Harry stands next to Eggsy and gazes out at the lake. It's a breezy day and there are whitecaps ruffling the glassy surface of the water. The mountains on the opposite shore are lined in gold by late afternoon sun. He stares at the natural beauty and wonders the same thing. "I don't really quite know."

Eggsy leans his head on Harry's shoulder. "Thank you, Harry."

"For what, my dear boy?"

"For caring enough to give me this. For bringing me here."

Harry rests his forehead against Eggsy's. "And thank you."

"For what?"

"For making me remember what's important."

"Yeah." Eggsy looks up at him, his eyes full of hope and promise.

There's something else in Eggsy's gaze, something almost holy and profound.

Love.

Harry sees it, and all of the feelings that had been cultivating in his heart since the beginning can't stay hidden any longer. Here, in a place that's free of obligation and bitter memories, Harry can say the words that have been hovering on his lips from the moment Eggsy had rushed into the boardroom over the shop and looked at him like he'd been the answer to all of his prayers. 

"I love you, Eggsy." He brushes Eggsy's cheek, his lips, cupping his palm around the face that has haunted him from the moment he'd regained his memories. "You don't have to say anything, I just wanted you to know."

"Harry, you great berk, I love you, too." Eggsy laughs softly. "I would have told you the minute I saw you alive and well, but …" He trails off in uncertainty.

Harry understands. "It was too soon. There was too much was going on. You had a job to do and that would have complicated matters."

"Yeah. Merlin had called me as soon as he'd heard and told me what I'd have to do. But the words were always there, always ready for me to say. I'd planned to tell you while we were here, I'd imagined a perfect moment. Maybe when we were out exploring, or down by the lake. I'd even memorized the rest of that poem." Eggsy's blushing now.

"You would woo me with poetry?" Harry is delighted.

"Silly, ain't it?" Eggsy's blush deepens.

"Not in the least, my dearest. I've never been wooed with poetry. And to be honest, I've never been wooed."

"No, never?"

Harry shakes his head. "Never for real, never by anyone who hadn't been a mark or a mission. I've never wooed or been wooed. This is the life of a Kingsman."

"I know, but …"

"But nothing. And I would very much love to be wooed with poetry."

Eggsy goes up on his tiptoes and brushes his lips to the corner of Harry's mouth and says, as he recites, 

"I wandered lonely as a cloud,  
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,  
When all at once I saw a crowd,  
A host, of golden daffodils;  
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,  
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze."

He pauses and Harry picks up the thread, softly speaking the next stanza, because Eggsy deserves to be wooed with poetry, too.

"Continuous as the stars that shine  
And twinkle on the milky way,  
They stretched in never-ending line  
Along the margin of a bay:  
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,  
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance."

Eggsy leans into Harry, pressing his face against Harry's chest, and continues,

"The waves beside them danced; but they  
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:  
A poet could not but be gay,  
In such a jocund company:  
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought  
What wealth the show to me had brought"

Eggsy pauses for a moment on the third line and Harry smiles, thinking _oh yes, we cannot help but be gay_. He recites the last stanza, his voice low and murmuring into the sleek silkiness of Eggsy's hair, 

"For oft, when on my couch I lie  
In vacant or in pensive mood,  
They flash upon that inward eye  
Which is the bliss of solitude;  
And then my heart with pleasure fills,  
And dances with the daffodils."

"You are my daffodil, Eggsy. You are the wealth of my joy and happiness." Harry tucks his fingers under Eggsy's chin and tilts his face up. "I love you."

"I love you, Haz." Eggsy is breathless, his eyes luminous. 

Harry kisses Eggsy, his lips are warm and soft, delightfully plump – like perfectly ripe fruit. Eggsy tastes of the coffee they'd gotten at the rest stop outside of Litchfield, he tastes like everything Harry has told himself he shouldn't have and every moment of happiness he’s ever had in his life. Eggsy tastes like happiness and golden sunlight. He is both familiar and unique and perfect, and Harry knows he'll be dead and dust before he tastes anything better.

Eggsy pulls him back towards the bed and they fall together, laughing softly. Harry says again, "I love you." And he repeats it, kissing Eggsy, murmuring the words against Eggsy's lips. "I love you." He finds the mole at the base of Eggsy's throat and says it again. "I love you." He repeats those three words as he strips Eggsy of his clothes, as he puts his hands on Eggsy's bare skin and traces scars both old and new. Harry keeps telling Eggsy, "I love you," and revels in each time that Eggsy tells him the same. The room is filled with their hushed murmurs, a counterpoint to the sound of skin on skin, of completion – both sexual and emotional.

Harry knows that he has never been happier than he is at this very moment, with Eggsy replete and boneless from pleasure, asleep in his arms. He feels as if there isn't enough time left in the universe to express how much he loves the man in his arms. 

The stars will weep with envy at the love that's in his heart.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The days pass too swiftly. Perhaps that is the nature of happiness.

Harry, despite years of physical discipline, has never been an early riser when he doesn't have to be, and had always preferred to lounge in bed for an extra hour or so. Not Eggsy. Whether he's in London or in Cumbria, Eggsy's up every day at six AM to work out, and watching Eggsy sweating while nearly naked is more than enough incentive to get Harry out of bed.

It is a pity that the bathing facilities in this house are distinctly Edwardian. In other words, they are perfectly adequate for getting clean, but aren't made for sharing. Eggsy reads his mind and suggests a complete renovation, especially since he sees them spending a lot more time here.

"That'll be something you'll have to trust the caretakers to manage."

"Me? I'm not the one with oodles of leisure time and a nine-to-five job." Eggsy's doing an excellent job of pretending outrage. Or maybe he's not pretending.

"The joys of home ownership, dear. Or you can leave the perfectly serviceable bathroom the way it is. Although I'd always thought that it would be nice to have a deep soaker tub to wallow in after a long day of hiking."

Eggsy just narrows his eyes and makes a note for the caretakers.

Getting up early does have its compensations. It means that it doesn't take much to convince Eggsy to join him a mid-afternoon siesta. Sex isn't always on the menu, but intimacy always is. Languorous and heady, they lay together, skin on skin, discovering their reborn selves. Harry has taken to leaving the patch off when he's not wearing his glasses, and on their third day, he lets Eggsy touch the empty socket and does his best to quell his own revulsion.

"Why does it bother you?"

"Maybe because it's something I can never hide." Harry has vague memories of several surgeries and knows that he's reached the limits of what reconstructive surgery can do.

"It's an honorable scar, honorably earned."

Harry's not so sure of that, but in the face of Eggsy's adamance and devotion, he won't contradict him.

One afternoon, in the middle of the second week of their holiday, Harry's looking for the wet weather gear he's sure he'd packed. Up until today, they'd been blessed with a string of days filled with sunshine and Wordsworth's high, drifting clouds. One of the their carryalls feels like it contains what he's looking for and he takes it over to the bed to unpack it. Instead of the oilskin jackets Harry's expecting to find, the bag contains a rather interesting assortment of bondage gear.

He examines the collection of black leather straps, all neatly coiled on themselves, there's an eye mask, a ball gag, a small box with a cock ring and another with a butt plug. None of this is unfamiliar to Harry – he's scened with marks, as both Dom and sub, and while he prefers the former, he has no problem with the latter if that's what Eggsy wants. He wants what Eggsy wants and has no problem with submitting – provided that Eggsy knows what he's doing. 

And if he doesn't, well, Eggsy will just have to let him top from the bottom until he builds up his confidence.

"Harry – I think it's too wet to go for a hike." Eggsy bursts into the bedroom like the rain beating on the windows. Then he sees what Harry's unearthed. "Ah."

Harry grins. "Yes. _Ah._ " 

"It's not what you think."

Harry looks at the gear and looks back at Eggsy. "You mean to tell me that this isn't bondage gear from one of the finest leather emporia in London?" Harry had recognized the maker's mark on the black leather flogger.

"It is, but …" Eggsy bites his lip. "But – " He can't seem to finish the sentence.

"You mean to tell me you don't want to tie me up and have your wicked way with me?" Harry can't help the bubble of laughter that comes out with those words. He hopes that Eggsy doesn't think he's laughing _at_ him.

Eggsy turns bright red and shakes his head. "Actually, no. I was hoping you'd tie _me_ up."

Harry's about to say something about how a gentleman always endeavors to please his partner, except that Eggsy adds, "But not just because I'd like to submit to you."

"Oh?" Harry's completely lost now.

Eggsy repacks the gear and sits Harry down on the bed, and then he does something unexpected. Eggsy kneels at Harry's feet. "I'm probably going to mess this up big time, so I'm going to apologize in advance."

"There's nothing to apologize for, my dear. I would be honored to have your trust."

"Well, that's part of it. A big part, but – it's kind of more than that."

Harry nods and reaches out to cup Eggsy's cheek. "Whatever you want, whatever you need."

"Maybe it should be about what you need, Harry."

That strikes at something in Harry, something he's long held dormant. Could it be that Eggsy's somehow divined this part of him? "Eggsy?"

"I was thinking about what you said, about how you are worried – after what ... happened."

_In Kentucky._

Eggsy doesn't have to say those words to bring those demons to life. The stir of arousal turns to fear and self-loathing.

Eggsy just looks at him, waiting for some signal that it would be all right to continue. Harry nods.

"You were worried – you are worried – about losing control, about having it taken away from you." 

"Yes." Harry can't deny that. He's discussed it with his therapist, but not in the context of sex. He's too much of an Englishman to do that. 

"So, like I said, I was thinking, what if I gave you control? What if you knew that you needed to keep control at all costs, that if you lost control, you'd hurt me. What if you tied me up, what if you took away my will, my agency, what if you had complete control over me, no limits, no expectation." Eggsy's hands shake in Harry's. "No safe words. All you'd have is my trust in your self-control."

Harry pulls Eggsy up and into his arms. "Just when I think I have been given the fullest measure of your greatness, you prove that there is no measure to that."

Eggsy looks confused.

"That is a compliment, dearest. You awe me. But you frighten me, too."

"Why?"

"To take such risks, love. You'd let me destroy you."

"But you wouldn't. You wouldn't hurt me like that." 

Harry thinks about those terrible wounds he'd inflicted with his words, how easily he'd destroyed Eggsy in his anger. He hadn't needed some megalomaniac's technology to lose control, all he'd required had been his own anger and disappointment.

Even after all of these weeks together, the seamlessness of their lives – their wants and desires – Harry still believes that Eggsy's forgiven him far too easily. 

"Harry?"

"I love you, Eggsy. And I worry about you."

"Why?"

Even though Harry wants to say, _because you're so willing to put yourself in harm's way for me._ , he focuses on the immediate problem. "Have you ever scened with anyone?" Harry almost hopes not, he's possessive enough to want to have this first.

Eggsy shakes his head. "Not outside of a Kingsman assignment. There was an operation that required some deep cover work and, well, a lot of training. On both sides – dom and sub."

Harry's a bit disappointed by that, but at least he knows that when they do scene, Harry will be the first Dom that Eggsy actually cares about. And that's not something he can focus on yet. "So you know just how dangerous it is to go into a scene without a safe word. Edge play like this isn't for anyone who doesn't have years of experience."

"I do, but I trust you. And that's the whole point of this – so you can prove to yourself that you won't lose control, even when the safety's off."

"Can I ask you something, Eggsy?"

"Of course!"

"Are you excited by the idea of scening without a safe word?"

Eggsy shakes his head. "Truthfully, the idea scares the shit out of me. But it's _you_."

"Good, because it should." He kisses Eggsy slowly, sweetly, pouring all of his love and admiration into that kiss. "I am honored that you'd want to do this for me, but I don't think it's a good idea."

"You don't trust yourself?" Eggsy gets right to the point.

"I don't. And it has nothing to do with Kentucky."

Eggsy is puzzled. "I don't understand."

"Perhaps if I was more experienced as a Dom, or as _your_ Dom, and I could read you when you're deep in subspace, I'd be willing to scene without a safety net. But I'm not. You said that you've been trained and you've been a submissive for a mission, but – "

There's a growing hurt and distance in Eggsy's eyes and Harry knows he needs to find a different approach. A blunter approach. "Do you know what it would do to me if I went too far? It's not even a matter of losing control. It would destroy me, Eggsy. You are too precious to me, what we have is something I never hoped for in my lifetime. I wake up every morning and have to remember that this isn't a dream."

Some – but not all – of the hurt retreats. "Harry, I love you, too, and I want you to be happy and whole. I thought this would help."

He kisses Eggsy again. "It could, but it's too risky."

Eggsy sighs. "I just wanted to help."

Harry holds Eggsy close, burying his face in Eggsy's neck. "I know, darling. And I love you even more for your generous heart, but there are lines I won't cross with you. You live a dangerous life, my Galahad, and I won't add to that."

Maybe it's his use of Eggsy's code name, because Eggsy relaxes against Harry, muttering, "I guess it's a good thing I apologized in advance."

"There's nothing to apologize for. Your heart is in the right place, and I can't imagine there is anyone else in this world who would want to do that for me." Harry nuzzles the sweet spot between Eggsy's ear and his magnificent jaw. "Thank you."

He feels Eggsy brace himself, his muscles going tight, but before he can ask what is wrong, Eggsy says, "Thank you, _sir_."

At that one word, it seems as if all of the blood in Harry's body migrates to his cock. His arousal is as powerful as it is instantaneous.

He pushes the bag with the bondage gear onto the floor and all but throws Eggsy on the mattress. "Do you mean that?"

Eggsy's laugh is breathless and Harry can feel Eggsy's own arousal pushing hard against his denims. "Didn't I tell you, I wanted to drop to my knees when you pulled me out of Holborn." 

Harry growls, "You said that I looked like sex on a stick."

Eggsy bites his lip and grins. "Yeah, well you did – and you do. Right fit, posher than anything, and as dominant as fuck. " Eggsy had slipped back into his Cockney accent, but then perfectly mimics Harry's RP, "'A little gratitude would be nice.' I nearly nutted in my shorts," Eggsy's pauses, licks his lips and says, "Sir."

Harry lets out a shuddering breath.

Eggsy continues, "I never had a problem with this during training. It's not like I get turned on when I'm _supposed_ to show respect. When it's all part of the program, you know? Never got wood for my drill sergeant – at least not during duty hours."

Although he doesn't want to know, Harry has to ask, "Merlin?"

"Mister I Like Ta Look But I Dinna Touch?" Eggsy pulls off his glasses and puts them on the nightstand, remembering that everything is being recorded. "Yeah, he's right fit and he's the guv and all, but no. That would be like getting a boner for my best mate. Like popping wood for Roxy or Jamal or Ryan, but worse." 

Harry doesn't show his relief, but Eggsy seems to understand. "It's you, Haz. You're the only one I've ever wanted to go on my knees for, and I don't mean to give a blowie. The only one I knew I could trust with that. Even before I knew your name, I knew that."

"Say it again." 

There's no hesitation when Eggsy says, "Sir. Tell me what to so, sir."

Harry breathes in and out in carefully measured breaths. He knows that they need to have a rather thorough discussion about limits, but at this moment all he wants to do is tell Eggsy to – "Your mouth, on my cock. Now."

Eggsy rolls Harry over and says, with a bit of cheek and a whole lot of sincerity, "Yes, sir."

Harry wonders if there is no more erotic sound than the muted clank of a belt as it's unbuckled, the quiet susurration of a zipper as it's lowered. A few tugs, and Harry's naked from his belly to his thighs and Eggsy's mouth is hovering over his cock.

"May I, sir? May I suck your cock?"

"Yes, but don't touch yourself. Both hand on me at all times. And if you come, there will be consequences." Harry knows just what he wants to do with Eggsy and that's almost as arousing as watching Eggsy suck his dick.

"Deeper, my boy." Harry threads his fingers through Eggsy's hair, guiding him. "Relax and open up." This is the first time he's had Eggsy's mouth on his cock. While it's clear that Eggsy has experience with giving pleasure like this, Harry's cock is proportionate to his height and can be intimidating, even to an expert.

Eggsy's obedient and so eager to please, but he's struggling to take it all. Harry's hold on Eggsy is light and Eggsy can break free at any time, but he lets Harry hold him, lifting him up and pushing him down in a slow, steady rhythm, going deeper with each descent. 

Harry isn't going to last long. Eggsy's submission to his desires is exquisite, and just as he manages to take Harry's cock all the way down, his face red and tears streaming from his eyes, Harry comes, holding Eggsy's face to his groin. 

Harry lets go and Eggsy slides his mouth off his cock, a trickle of semen staining his lips. Eggsy licks it clean and Harry regrets his age and extended refractory period. But there's always the pleasure of controlling Eggsy's orgasm. "Did you come?" 

"No, you told me not to." Eggsy's voice is hoarse, Harry notes with satisfaction.

"Then come here." Harry pulls Eggsy up so they're face to face and he cups his hand around Eggsy's groin. "You're such a good man, Galahad. You'll do anything for me, won't you?" He squeezes gently, pressing the stiff material and hard zipper against Eggsy's cock.

"Yes, Harry. Yes." Eggsy rocks his hips into Harry's hand. "I want to be good for you."

"And you are, my dear boy. You are. You have such a beautiful heart, you just want to make the world a better place for everyone. You make me so proud – "

At that last word, Eggsy's cock leaps under Harry's hand, pulsing in orgasm.

"You are so good for me, my darling."

Eggsy rolls on his side and buries his face against Harry's chest, a leg thrown over Harry's hip. They're both a mess, Harry's pants are undone and tangled, Eggsy's are damp with come, but neither of them make a move to get themselves cleaned up.

The rain beats against the windows, the sky a perfectly gloomy November afternoon and Harry marvels at the utter perfection of his life.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	9. Hurt, and Then Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Eggsy return home after a splendid and intimate vacation, and almost immediately, Eggsy needs to report to HQ for an emergency assignment. Things do not go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Non-explicit reference to pedophilia and child sex trafficking.

The world intrudes on the second morning after Harry and Eggsy return from their three-week stay at Lake Windermere. Not in the form of colleagues stopping by to say hello and marvel at Harry's return, but in the form of a summons from Merlin – Arthur – for Eggsy to head to HQ for an assignment.

Harry knows better than to ask for details. Even if he was free of the restrictions of the Lazarus Protocol, he still wouldn't ask. Assignments are always on a need-to-know basis, at least until after debriefing and declassification. But at least he can walk with Eggsy to the shop and they can say goodbye properly before Harry has his therapy session.

Eggsy's dressed in a lovely Baltic blue three-piece suit, but to Harry's disappointment, he's not wearing one of Harry's ties. Instead, Eggsy has on the standard blue and red striped Kingsman tie, knotted in a half-Windsor. Which worries Harry a little bit. A half-Windsor is rather informal and it's seems to signify that Eggsy will be doing something dirty and unpleasant.

In Fitting Room One, Harry stands behind Eggsy and smiles. Eggsy smiles back, his eyes soft with memory. "You remember, Haz?"

"Of course."

"And look at how far we've come." Eggsy reaches up to straighten his tie, his chin tilted in perfect arrogance.

"Let me." Harry makes a minute adjustment to perfection and turns Eggsy around. "This is the first time I'm saying goodbye to you. Let me do it right." He kisses Eggsy deeply, tenderly, savoring the sweetness of Eggsy's lips, the heat and mass and strength of Eggsy's body. He breaks the kiss and says, "Do good, save the world, and come back to me."

Eggsy brushes his fingers against Harry's lips. "I love you, Harry Hart, and I promise I will come home to you."

Harry steps out of the fitting room and the door locks behind him. Andrew is at the counter, getting the shop ready for the day and Harry bids him good morning before heading upstairs. Doctor Strass, his therapist, is waiting for him in one of the smaller offices.

"You look like you had a nice holiday."

Harry helps himself to a cup of tea and sits down across from her. "I did. It was lovely." He stares out into nothing and savors the memory of waking up every morning with Eggsy in his arms.

"Your relationship with Agent Galahad has progressed?"

Harry had, initially with reluctance, and then with increasing ease, had shared his feelings for Eggsy. As always, he wonders just how much Merlin has told the good doctor, how much of the recordings he's shared with her. "Yes, it has. We talked quite a bit."

"About your feelings?"

Despite his desire to be something more than an emotionally constipate English gentleman, it hard to break through and tell her the details. But he has too. "Yes, I told Eggsy I love him. I didn't see any point in keeping that a secret."

Doctor Strass nods. "And did you tell him that he was the primary reason why you came back to Kingsman?"

Harry shakes his head. "No, the moment didn't call for that."

"Will you? After all, you've told that to others – to people who are important to Agent Galahad."

Harry had mentioned his conversation with the new Agent Lancelot. Doctor Strass didn't hide her amusement at the threat, but she did spend the best part of a half-dozen sessions picking at the roots of Harry's reaction to Eggsy's failure of the last test and whether that had been a one-off reaction or if Harry would snap like that again when he was disappointed with Eggsy. 

When Harry had sworn that Eggsy could never disappoint him, Doctor Strass told him if that is true, then the next snap is inevitable. No one is perfect and to expect perfection is unrealistic and cruel.

Harry had tried to explain that he doesn't expect perfection, he's just so grateful for Eggsy's forgiveness, for a place in Eggsy's life that he'll accept whatever happens between them with grace.

Doctor Strass had complimented Harry on his poetic stoicism and politely asked him to stop bullshitting her.

This is why Harry hates therapy. It makes the ground shift under him.

Getting back to her immediate question, he gives it some thought. "I will tell him, but honestly, if feels as if it's irrelevant at this point. Our lives have become rather fully intertwined."

"How does that make you feel?" This is a question that Doctor Strass has asked him many times.

"Happy, complete. As if everything I've worked for, everything I've done – the good and the bad and the terrible – has lead me to this. That my whole life has been in preparation for where I am now."

"What if Eggsy didn't feel the same? What if, one day, he said to you that he wanted out, what would you do."

Doctor Strass' words are like bullets to his brain and he reacts. "You fucking bitch."

She just raises an eyebrow at his invective and Harry's immediately ashamed at the ungentlemanly words. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"As insults go, it lacks your usual creativity. But I've clearly struck a nerve."

Harry has to concede the point. "You have. There are so many reasons why Eggsy would walk away. And very few reasons why he should stay. I'm too old, too damaged, too – "

"Blah, blah, blah."

Doctor Strass' derision shocks him. "Excuse me?"

"Are we done with the pity party?" Doctor Strass sighs. "I'm not surprised that you've gone from my hypothetical question to assuming the worst about your real-world relationship. I want to know how you'd react if your relationship with Agent Galahad ends. I'm not even suggesting that it will end, and frankly, from what you've told me, from what I've seen in your files, I think it's more likely that you'd end the relationship first. But for the purposes of this discussion, what would you do if Eggsy ended the relationship."

Harry takes a deep breath and sorts through his reactions. "I'd have to let him go. I wouldn't want to. I'd ask him if there's anything I could do to fix what went wrong." He laughs, a little bitterly. "I'd ask him to go to therapy, to get a better perspective. But in the end, it's his choice and I'd have to respect that."

"And how would you deal with seeing Agent Galahad every day?"

"Well, I'd have to move out. I couldn't stay in the house."

Doctor Strass blinks. "Ah, I'd forgotten that you'd left your whole estate to Agent Galahad. You wouldn't resent him?"

"No. Not at all." Harry has no doubts about that. Then he realizes that Doctor Strass had been asking a different question. "You mean, how would I take seeing him at Kingsman regularly?"

She nods.

"Well, I'd imagine that our paths wouldn't cross that frequently. Galahad's an agent and I'll be heading up training once I'm cleared for duty again. And I see no reason why I couldn't simply retire if it became too difficult for me. Take myself out of the picture." Harry realizes how that sounds – too close to the truth. "I mean, leave Kingsman, maybe retire to someplace warm and sunny." _A place where I can just walk into the sea._

He's not sure if Doctor Strass believes him, but she doesn't press. "Tell me a bit more about your holiday. Did anything interesting happen?"

Harry's now positive that she's seen the feeds – specifically the one where Eggsy had suggested edge play as a way to help him test the limits of his control. He knows it would probably be a therapeutic discussion, but he's not up for any more mind games today.

"Does circumnavigating Lake Windermere on a touring bicycle count?"

Doctor Strass nods and smiles, understanding that she's not getting anything more out of him today. "I think we've had a productive session, Mr. Hart. Same time on Thursday?"

Harry rises when she does and bids her farewell. Before he exits the shop, Andrew hands him a package. "Arthur sent this over for you."

Harry thanks the man and departs. The package isn't heavy, but dense and Harry's curious as to what Merlin's given him. He's had no contact with his old friend since the day he'd finished setting up the cameras in the house. There's a cafe a block from the shop and Harry gets a cup of coffee and a pastry before sitting down to open the package.

It's a tablet and a smart phone – two things he's been prohibited from using since he'd returned from the dead. This must mean that he's almost done with the strictures of the Lazarus Protocol. Both the phone and the tablet are fully charged and waiting for his fingerprints to activate. That done, Harry acknowledges the standard Kingsman warning that his browsing, application usage and communications will be fully monitored at all times and any attempt to circumvent the monitoring will result in a wide range of penalties.

After memorizing the telephone number, Harry pockets the phone and uses the tablet to browse home renovation websites. Eggsy's agreed to a complete redo of the kitchen, provided that Harry oversees the project, start to finish. Harry's fine with that – Kingsman will provide the labor. There had been an "incident" in the early nineties, when the then-current Ector had hired unvetted contractors to remodel his family home. Merlin, new to his position, had wanted to try out a new bug scanner and as a joke, Ector suggested this freshly renovated house. Merlin found thirty-seven listening devices built into the new walls, appliances and plumbing. The contractors had been former members of the Stasi – the East German secret police – and had been freelancing for one of Kingsman's rival agencies. 

Harry spends a pleasant hour browsing through tile choices, looking at various appliances, and making notes about reconfiguring the entire layout so they can have something called a proper kitchen triangle.

It's definitely strange going home by himself, after so many weeks spending nearly every waking moment with Eggsy. JB is happy to see Harry and rather than just let the dog do his business in the back yard, Harry takes him for a leisurely walk through the park. This is something that he and Eggsy have been doing on a regular basis, and he's gotten to know some of his dog-walking neighbors well enough to spend a few minutes chatting. Of course, he's careful about what he says, and is wistfully nostalgic for the days when he had no idea that Mrs. Brewer, at No. 3, Stanhope Mews, had a pair of Afghan hounds that she calls Khyber and Kandahar, named for the places where her two sons had been killed. 

He doesn't hear from Eggsy that night, and his sleep is disturbed by dreams filled with an inchoate sense of loss. He blames Doctor Strass and her questions for that, not the lack of Eggsy in bed next to him. The next day is a physical therapy day and he pushes himself to the point where his therapist becomes concerned, but it does pay off and Harry falls into a deep sleep that night and wakes refreshed, if a bit sore.

The day passes quietly. After a morning of baking, Harry spends half the time working on training plans for the various Kingman departments and the rest on the kitchen remodel. He's favoring Carrera marble for all of the counters and a herringbone mosaic backsplash and oiled bronze fixtures, although he's deeply tempted by the hand-hammered copper sink that costs almost as much as the refrigerator he's picked out. Content in his domestic dreams, Harry loses all track of time, at least until Gawain and Bors arrive with dinner and booze.

Bors, barely waits for Harry to step out of the doorway, pushes in, hands him a bag with three bottles and says, "Merlin mentioned that you might be lonely without your better half."

_Better half?_

Gawain rolls his eyes and follows Bors inside. "We thought you might want some company."

"It's always a pleasure to see both of you. Make yourselves at home." 

That invitation seems unnecessary as Bors heads into the kitchen to fetch plates and silverware. "Are we going to eat in that temple of stuffy formality or do you want to watch some dirty movies over dinner?"

"Huh?" Harry doesn't know whether to agree or kick the pair of them out.

Bors holds up a memory stick. "I got 'The Best of Galahad VI' right here, complete with original soundtrack, courtesy of Arthur himself."

Gawain grabs the stick out of Bors' hands. "Lets have dinner like civilized people, sitting at a proper table. You know, Bors, that after the last time, Eggsy will kill us if we eat in the living room. Especially since you brought red wine." He pockets the flash drive and finishes collecting dinnerware for the three of them.

Harry feels a little, well, superfluous. "What happened the last time?"

Bors grins and says, "Trust me, Harry, you don't want to know."

Harry looks at Gawain, who confirms Bors' statement with a sad nod. 

"I don't mind eating in the living room."

Bors perks, up but Gawain just goes to the dining room and sets the table. "I'd rather not deal with Eggsy's displeasure – which will undoubtedly include a ban on poker nights _and_ dinner." Gawain looks at Harry, "You do know about poker nights and monthly dinners, right?"

"Merlin did mention that Eggsy likes to entertain on occasion." Harry doesn't mention the dinner they'd had when Merlin, Lancelot and Alastair had installed the cameras.

Bors adds, "Your worthy successor should be a goddamn Michelin-starred chef."

Harry agrees, "Yes, I've been enjoying Eggsy's cooking, and he's been teaching me a bit. I've found that I enjoy spending time in the kitchen. Who'd have thought?"

Bors, being Bors, says, "That's what happens when Harry Hart gets shot point-blank in the head. Instead of dying, you become a domestic goddess with a rather keen interest in baking. Anything in the cookie jar?"

Harry had made lemon squares this morning. "Afterwards, you don't want to spoil your dinner now, do you?"

Both Bors and Gawain roll their eyes, and Harry can almost hear them whinging, _"Yes, Dad."_

Dinner is a fairly decent Thai takeaway, which just might be the first brought-in meal Harry's had since his return to England. Eggsy's been fairly strict about cooking at least five night a week, with one night reserved for a pub meal and one night for leftovers. But the food is of little interest, compared to what's on the flash drive currently in Gawain's possession.

While Harry brews coffee and plates up some of this morning's baked goods, he lets the two men tinker a bit with the television set-up in his living room. That is another one of the very few things that Eggsy had changed – hiding a large high-definition display behind the very boring landscape over the fireplace.

Bors wasn't kidding about a soundtrack as a thumping bass sets the walls rattling. Harry sets down dessert and takes the remote away from Bors. "I do have neighbors."

Bors rolls his eyes. "Sorry."

The splash screen captures Harry's attention – it's Eggsy, guns blazing and he looks magnificent. "Who was with him?" The camera angle tells Harry that this had been recorded by another Kingsman's glasses. 

Gawain raises his hand. "I'd gotten into a difficult situation a few months after V-Day and Merlin – Arthur – sent Galahad in to pull my ass out of the fire." Gawain shakes his head. "I didn't think that the boy really had the makings of a Kingsman, even though I voted for him to succeed you. I have never been so glad to be wrong. He's the best of us." 

The video is an hour of terrifying and awe-inspiring fighting, from so many different points of view that Harry finds himself a little nauseous, and the heavy back-beat doesn't help matters. But one thing is perfectly clear, this Galahad, the sixth of his name, is a brutally efficient killer. He seems to count his bullets like an accountant, a trait that Harry, himself, had never quite mastered. Not that Harry had been indiscriminate with his shooting, it's just that Eggsy always seems to go for kill shots, never more than a double-tap.

Of course, this is a clip reel and it's designed to show Eggsy at this finest.

"I know what you're thinking, Harry." Bors interrupts his musings. 

"Do tell."

"That this is too carefully edited, that you're not seeing the real Galahad at work."

Harry concedes, "Close enough."

"This is the real Galahad. I've worked with him enough. He's more efficient than a guillotine. It's fucking scary watching him go hand-to-hand." 

Harry looks to Gawain, who nods in confirmation. 

They watch the video again, this time without the music and Harry focuses on Eggsy's reactions. He might be efficient, but he isn't a machine. Harry's always been good at reading micro-expressions and Eggsy's face gives too much away. He's repulsed by the killings, but determined to do the job. There's nothing triumphant, just the satisfaction that he's accomplished what needs to be done. Harry realizes that the killing is ancillary for Eggsy, an unavoidable and distasteful necessity. That's the way it should be. 

Both Bors and Gawain decline the offer for a nightcap and head out a little before midnight. While Harry's pleased that they left without needing a push out the door, the house feels too empty. He checks his phone, hoping for a text or an email from Eggsy, but there's nothing. Perhaps Eggsy doesn't know that Merlin's given him a phone.

Lonely and feeling foolish for that loneliness, Harry lets JB out for his evening business and does something he might regret, he takes the pug upstairs with him and sets him at the foot of the bed.

"Mr. Bauer, I expect you to behave and not take advantage of this moment of weakness."

JB pants his assent, circles around three time and goes to sleep. Harry changes into his pajamas, wraps his arms around Eggsy's pillow, breathes deeply and follows suit.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry wakes up to a dark bedroom and a faceful of JB's doggy breath. He glances at the clock, thinking it's still too early, but the clock doesn't lie. It's ten past six and the dog is accustomed to an early rising master. As he has for the past two mornings, Harry fumbles with the glasses, shoves his feet into his slippers, snags the robe and deals with Eggsy's dog. The only difference today is that he's carrying JB downstairs, instead of finding the beast waiting for him by the kitchen door.

The pug comes back inside, makes a bee-line for his food bowl and quivers with doggy excitement as Harry fills it. They go through the whole routine with the water bowl and by the time Harry's finished mopping up, he's fully awake. 

An hour later, the sun has barely pinkened the sky, but Harry's on his way to the café where he and Eggsy had breakfast that first morning. For some reason, Harry can't face breakfast alone this morning.

Thankfully, Devon, the flirtatious server, isn't on shift, and Harry's served his coffee and eggs without drama. He hopes that Doctor Strass gives Merlin the thumbs-up or thumbs-down soon, because he's going to go a little nuts if he has to linger in this holding pattern for much longer. These three days without Eggsy have been far too difficult, and while he's grateful that Merlin had sent Bors and Gawain over to distract him, he's still antsy.

Most of the problem is that he simply doesn't know what Eggsy's doing, where he is, or when he'll be home. This is probably why agents are discouraged from having families or long-term relationships outside of Kingsman. It seems infinitely cruel to leave spouses and partners to wonder if they'll ever see their mates again.

As Harry walks back from the café, he notices that the local shops and some of the houses are now decorated for Christmas. He checks his phone and is rather shocked to see that it's the start of the first week of December. Has it actually been two months since he'd returned from the dead? A mental tally of the dates confirm that: he'd spent three weeks alone with Eggsy, another ten days dealing with the incessant visitors welcoming him back, before they left for the Lake District, three weeks there, and a week since their return.

Christmas is not necessarily Harry's favorite time of year. Growing up, the holiday had been more about the _appearance_ of piety than any true religious devotion. His father had been a man deeply invested in his image as a gentleman of wealth and breeding and stature, which meant that his family needed to perform all of the tasks necessary to buttress and polish that image. Long hours spent in church during Advent season, and doling out food and gifts to the parish poor, but in ways to make the unfortunates realize that it was their fault they needed the gracious largess of the lord of the manor to survive.

And of course, Harry's father had died on Christmas Day. Not that he'd mourned the bastard, but Reginald Hart dying on Christmas Day had a way of dampening Harry's own enthusiasm for the holiday in subsequent years. After becoming Galahad, Harry had expected that the Christmas season would become even more meaningless, that he'd always be on assignment far from home during the holidays. That had been the case about half the time, including one very disastrous week in Iraq.

Harry stops in his tracks as he realizes something. This month will mark the twentieth anniversary of Lee Unwin's death, and Eggsy will be older than his father ever was. He waits for the guilt to swamp him – guilt for missing the grenade, guilt for surviving, guilt for bringing the terrible news to Lee's family – but it doesn't come. He still feels regret and shame for ignoring the aftermath, for letting Michelle and Eggsy fall into poverty, something that should never be forgotten or excused, but the guilt over Lee's death has eased. At least for the moment.

He wonders how Eggsy feels about the holiday – if he wants to celebrate or pretend it doesn't exist. Harry will leave the choice it up to him and follow his lead for the breadth and depth of celebration.

It's a little before eight AM when Harry gets home, and he has about an hour before he needs to head to the shop for his appointment with Doctor Strass. He whiles away the time planning dinner, checking the pantry and making a grocery list; Eggsy will be quite proud of him.

At the start of his appointment, Harry decides to be blunt and asks Doctor Strass, "How much longer?"

"Longer for what, Mr. Hart?"

"Until you make your recommendation to Arthur about my suitability for returning to Kingsman."

Doctor Strass smiles. "I already have."

That sets Harry aback. "When?"

"Before you left for your holiday."

"Then why am I still seeing you twice a week?"

"Because you're my patient, because this is _therapy_. My assessment of your 'suitability' had never been the primary reason for our sessions."

Harry's not quite sure what to make of this. 

Doctor Strass does something she's never done in all of their sessions, she volunteers information. "I've told Arthur that your time out of Kingsman's watchful eye has not compromised your values or your commitment to the agency."

Harry should be relieved to hear that, but he reads something in the doctor's expression. "And yet, I think you still have reservations, no?"

"Yes, I do. About Galahad." 

"You are concerned about Eggsy? Why?"

"Specifically, about your relationship with him."

"I thought we've gone over that."

"Somewhat. You've told me that this is the first serious personal relationship you've had in your adult life."

"It is, and we discussed that _ad nauseum_. What I don't understand is why you think that my relationship with a valued and high ranking member of the organization will somehow compromise my integrity. If anything, it should make my commitment to Kingsman even stronger."

"Mr. Hart, you are not just some job candidate. You spent nearly thirty years in Kingsman, you know how the organization works and you could, with the right incentive, destroy it."

_So much for being your patient, first and foremost, Doctor._ But Harry's willing to play along. "What would you deem the right incentive?"

"What if Galahad turned traitor?"

If Doctor Strass is expecting an invective-filled response like last week, she'll be disappointed. Harry relaxes in his chair and rests his hands on his knees. "I could say that would never happen, but I can hear you asking me to consider it as a hypothetical."

"So, consider it. You've discovered that Galahad – Eggsy Unwin – is working for the enemy. What will you do?"

Harry doesn't need to think about this. "Two bullets, one in Eggsy's brain, one in mine."

That surprises the doctor. "Why?"

"I know you're thinking that I wouldn't want to live without Eggsy, that I see suicide as the only alternative."

Doctor Strass nods. "That does seem to be what you're saying."

"But you're wrong. My death – as foolishly romantic as it may seem – is quite practical and intended to protect Kingsman. If Eggsy is a traitor, there's no question in my mind that he would have corrupted me, too. I shot my dog, Doctor Strass. I loved him, but I knew my duty. I love Eggsy and I still know my duty."

The silence stretches out, cold and thin and painful. Harry will enjoy out-waiting her, but he's not given the chance. His glasses chirp with an incoming message and Harry's heart stutters in fear. Merlin would have no reason to contact him like this unless something has gone terribly wrong.

Without a word, he gets up and heads over to the far corner of the room for privacy. "What's the matter? "

_"Eggsy's on his way back."_

"Is he injured?"

_"Physically, no."_

Harry lets out a sigh of relief at that blessing. "What's the matter?"

_"Remember what you found Marseilles in early 1998?"_

Harry does, and he has to swallow against the rising nausea. He'd been on a simple surveillance job – the first mission since Lee Unwin's death – and had walked into a child sex-trafficking ring. "I still have nightmares from that. Is this what you needed Eggsy – " Harry corrects himself, "Galahad for?" 

_"We thought we were busting a group using migrant workers as slaves, but we found masses of child porn. The bastards were selling infants for sex."_

Harry's breathing through his mouth; it's getting hard to keep his gorge down. "And Galahad? What was his involvement?"

_"Remember the morning when he met us at the beta site? How he reacted when he thought I wanted him to interrogate ye?"_

"Yes." At the time, Harry had been bemused by Eggsy's reaction, but had forgotten about it until now.

_"Galahad has, in his short tenure, proven himself to be one of the most effective interrogators in Kingsman's history. He can get into his target's head like nothing I've ever seen and make him talk. And he's spent the best part of the last three days inside the head of a monster. He broke the target's silence, but the cost was high."_

"How bad is he?"

_"Bad. He's barely verbal right now – but that could be from exhaustion. He's not had more than three hours of sleep since he'd started. I've taken his weapons and ye'll need to secure what's in the house. I've downloaded the inventory and the safe codes to yer tablet. Get the lad home and to bed, give him all the comfort you can, keep him safe. I'll come by later to check on him."_

"He's on the train? Not alone, I hope?"

_"Percival's with him. They left just after I contacted ye, so they should be there in about ten minutes. I've put yer palm print back into the system, so ye can meet Galahad on the platform."_

"Thank you." Harry closes the connection and turns to Doctor Strass. "We're done here." Without further ceremony or courtesy, he heads down to the shop and finds Andrew waiting for him and the shop empty of customers.

"Arthur contacted me, and I've secured Fitting Room One." 

"Thank you." 

Andrew opens the door and Harry doesn't wait for it to close behind him before he presses his palm to the mirror. The descent is too slow, and Harry paces the small confines of the room. But as slow as the trip is, he still has to wait for the bullet train to arrive. He's ready to contact Merlin to demand an ETA when a light appears down the tunnel and the train comes to a stop at the platform.

Alastair gets out first and Eggsy follows. He looks perfectly fine, except that he's missing his tie, there's a gray ring around the inside of his shirt collar, and his eyes are dead.

"Galahad, look who's here." Alastair smiles and directs Eggsy's attention to Harry.

Eggsy gives Harry a tiny smile. "Good to see you."

"And it's good to see you, too. I've missed you."

Eggsy's incredulous, "You have?" almost breaks Harry's heart.

"It's been far too quiet, and while JB is pleasant company, he lacks your wit and charm." 

Eggsy blinks and swallows. "Can I come home now?"

"Of course." He catches Alastair's eye and wraps a careful arm around Eggsy. "Let's get you home."

Eggsy's shoulders are stiff under Harry's arm, but he doesn't push Harry away. "Yeah, home is good."

Alastair gets back in the bullet train and Harry leads Eggsy to the lift. Eggsy sighs. "I'm so tired, Harry. Feel like I could sleep forever. Never wake up." Eggsy leans against Harry, almost a deadweight.

Harry kisses Eggsy's temple and is almost overwhelmed by the sour odor of stale sweat. "Not forever, darling, but for a good long while. Until you're fully rested."

"You talked to Merlin?" 

"Yes, love. He called me a little while ago. That's how I knew to meet you on the platform."

"Did he tell you what I had to do."

"Yes. And that you did your job magnificently."

"I feel so dirty, like I'm never going to get this out of my head."

"It takes time."

Eggsy looks at him, his eyes now sharply focused. "You? You've been through this?"

Harry sighs. "Yes – but I don't think telling you about it will help."

"I read your files, Harry. I don't remember – "

"Cases like these are sealed. You wouldn't have been given access to that mission without a need to know."

Eggsy nods. "Yeah, all right. That makes sense."

The lift comes to a stop and Eggsy straightens up, looking determined to exit Fitting Room One under his own power. Harry respects that, but stays right behind Eggsy, prepared to help. There's a discreet tap on the door – three knocks – a signal that lets agents know that there are civilians in the shop. 

"I can have Andrew clear everyone out if you need help."

"No, Harry. I'll make it." Eggsy checks his appearance in the mirror and grimaces. "I look a right mess." He pulls his tie out of his jacket pocket and goes to put it on. His hands are shaking and all but falls against the mirror in exhaustion. 

Harry takes it from him. "Let me." He flips Eggsy's collar up and knots the wrinkled silk into a full Windsor, tucking the ends inside Eggsy's waistcoat. Harry sweeps his thumbs over Eggsy's cheekbones, over his eyelids and along his brow, smoothing away some of the lines. 

"Thank you." Eggsy nods and straightens up again. "I'm ready."

Harry opens the door and escorts Eggsy out. He's grateful that the customers are tourists, more interested in the displays than the people. He stays on Eggsy's heels as he moves through the shop and out the door. There's a Kingsman cab waiting, but Eggsy doesn't get into it.

"I want to walk." Eggsy tilts his face to the sky – it's clear and cloudless, but it's cold and not the best weather to be out without a coat.

Harry signals to the driver, who'll follow as best he can.

They make it to the corner when Eggsy pauses and looks around. "When did it become Christmas season?"

Harry takes Eggsy's hand, "It's the first week of December." 

Eggsy seems to collapse and Harry looks for the cab, which pulls up immediately. This time, Eggsy lets Harry get him into the car.

"I don't really like Christmas." Eggsy's voice is small and there's a wealth of shame in the admission.

"I understand."

At first, Eggsy looks puzzled and the comprehension dawns. "Right, of course you do. It's twenty years this year."

"I realized that this morning. I'm so sorry, Eggsy."

"Wasn't your fault." Eggsy buries his face against Harry's shoulder. "I'm so tired, Harry. Everything hurts."

Harry does his best to comfort Eggsy. "We'll be home soon. A bath and bed, how does that sound?"

Eggsy doesn't answer and Harry doesn't press. 

As the cab winds its way through the crowded streets, Harry wonders how many times Eggsy's had to suffer alone through this kind of blowback. He imagines that Eggsy deals well with the emotional drop that comes with the physical side of missions, but working through the demons that are born out of interrogations like the one that Eggsy had just completed, deep cover operations, the endless mind-fucks that are required for intelligence gathering in hostile territory, requires more that just a hot bath and a good night's sleep. Those drops are why so many agents are functional alcoholics, using the contents of a bottle to save off the inevitable nightmares.

Harry keeps his arms around Eggsy, who is almost uncontrollably shivering.

The taxi pulls up to the house and the driver says, in a low tone, "We've arrived, sirs." 

Eggsy's clinging to Harry, and while Harry would willingly carry him across an ocean, he can't carry him up the stairs. 

"Eggsy, darling. We're home. Let's go inside, all right?" 

Eggsy lets out a shuddering breath. "Sorry, don't mean to fall apart like this."

Harry doesn't say anything, he just helps him out of the cab and supports him as he heads up the stairs to the front door. The driver, Walter, who Harry's known for decades, takes the house keys from Harry and opens the front door. He waits until Harry gets Eggsy inside and asks if there's anything he can fetch from the shops.

Harry's grateful for the offer and gives Walter the grocery list he'd made up this morning and asked him to get some soup for Eggsy as well. As the driver closes the front door behind him, Harry gets Eggsy upstairs.

"Can you get undressed or do you want my help?"

Eggsy's eyes are unfocused and he's still shivering, so Harry sits him down on the bed and tells Eggsy to wait for him to get the bath going. JB is standing guard at Eggsy's feet.

Harry can remember coming home to an empty house after Marseilles and climbing into a bottle; he'd been alone without even his dog for comfort – Mr. Pickles had died a few months before. Merlin and Alastair had found him in his study, staring down the barrel of his gun. To this day, Harry's not sure if he would have pulled the trigger, but he can never remember feeling so alone, so lost and empty as he had at that moment – at least not until he'd walked out of the South Glade Baptist Church in Kentucky.

Harry vows to himself that Eggsy will never feel such desolation.

The bath running, Harry goes back to the bedroom and gets Eggsy out of his clothes, at least until Eggsy brushes his hands away and starts undressing himself. Harry just gets to his knees and takes off Eggsy Kingsman-issued oxfords, making a mental note to put these and the rest of his lethal footwear out of reach.

Harry leads a shivering, naked Eggsy to the bathroom and gives him a hand into the tub. Without asking, Harry tips some lavender oil into the water. After a particularly strenuous hike when they were on holiday, Eggsy has confessed – with no small amount of embarrassment – that he'd used up all of Harry's bath products and now wished he'd had some of the oils he'd found on the ledge in Harry's bathtub. The lavender had always helped him relax and feel better.

Harry had replied that if Eggsy could shamelessly wear a dead man's underwear to feel confident, why should he be embarrassed about using a dead man's bath oils. Eggsy blushed, and when Harry teased him, had insisted it was simply the heat from the bathwater.

As Harry runs a flannel over Eggsy's skin, he talks to him. "I've told you that you make me proud, but what you've just done inspires more than just pride, my darling. I _admire_ you, Galahad. I look at you and see a man who is better than I am, stronger than I am, smarter and more committed to the ideals of Kingsman."

Eggsy shakes his head. "Harry – no."

"Eggsy – yes. You are. There is so much innate goodness in you, you care about people – the individuals, not just the world – and there is no one who meets you who isn't made better for knowing you."

"Stop, Harry. Please just – " Eggsy sobs.

"Why are you fighting me, darling?" Harry wonders if he's overwhelming Eggsy in his desire to remind him just how loved he is.

"You don't know what I had to do, what I had to pretend to be."

Harry can guess, given the nature of Eggsy's assignment. "And it was all pretense. None of it was real – at least not for you. The men you were engaged with – your interrogation subjects – had valuable information, information that would help Kingsman stop the terrible things they'd been doing. You've saved lives, you've saved children – and I can think of no greater purpose than that."

Harry picks up Eggsy's hand, smoothing his thumbs over sore and scraped knuckles; he wonders what poor bathroom wall got the brunt of Eggsy's ire. "This is going to stay with you for a long time. It's going to hurt you and haunt you and you'll never forget what you saw, you'll never look at the world the same way again. But I promise you that I'll be here for you, Eggsy, I will give you what ever you need. You're not alone in this."

The memories of the children Harry had found in that warehouse in Marseilles, some barely out of diapers had haunted him for years, to the point that he couldn't look at a young child without seeing the wrecked and ruined ones he'd recused. Now Harry wonders if that had been why he'd stayed away from Lee's wife and child.

Eggsy sobs, a small and wretched sound. It's followed by another one, harsher more horrible, and the the screams start, pain-filled cries of devastation and Harry knows that Eggsy needs this release. He'd stripped down to his vest and briefs before he'd gotten Eggsy into the tub, and he takes those off and gets into the tub, holding Eggsy as he cries.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry barely manages to get Eggsy out of the tub, dried off and wrapped in the red robe before Walter comes back with the groceries. Again, he leaves JB to watch over Eggsy; this time, placing the dog in Eggsy's lap. Harry makes sure that Eggsy's petting his dog before leaving him for the few minutes it takes to let Walter in and pay him for the groceries.

"Mr. Unwin will be all right, sir?" The driver is clearly another person Eggsy's touched. "He's a nice guy – not that any of the other agents give me trouble, but Mr. Unwin always asks after my family and gave me some advice when I told him my youngest was interested in gymnastics.

That is so typically Eggsy.

"Mr. Unwin should be fine, and I do need to get back to him.

Walter asks Harry to give Eggsy his regards and departs. Harry rushes back up to the bedroom and is relieved to see that Eggsy's right where he left him, although JB has rolled over and Eggsy's now petting the dog's belly.

"Everything all right?"

Eggsy's voice is hoarse, but he sounds relatively normal. It's an act, of course. Harry can read Eggsy's anguish like one of the broadsheets tacked to the office wall.

"That was Walter, he'd picked up some groceries. There's some soup if you're hungry."

Eggsy sighs. "I should eat."

"You'll feel better if you do. Then you can nap. Up here, or downstairs. I'll put a few logs in the fireplace, you'll be nice and warm."

"Will you stay with me?"

"Of course, darling."

Eggsy smiles. "I like when you call me that." 

Harry sits down next to Eggsy and drapes and arm around his shoulders. "And I like calling you that. You are my darling, my dearest love." 

"I've never been anyone's darling. Or their dearest love."

Harry's heart breaks just a bit more. "Well, you are mine. I waited a lifetime for you and now that I have you here, I'm going to revel in it."

Eggsy sniffs a little bit and leans into Harry. "The world's thrashed us about, no? But we've found each other, right?"

"And I'm not letting you go, Eggsy."

"Good, because it'll be a right mess if you do. Since I ain't letting you go, Haz. You're mine, forever."

Harry smiles into Eggsy's damp curls at the "Haz". Eggsy wouldn't use the nickname if he wasn't feeling safe.

"Shall we go down, get some soup in you?"

"Yeah, that sounds good." 

Harry retrieves one of Eggsy's old tracksuits from the guest bedroom – figuring that something soft and familiar to wear would help. And it does. Although Eggsy's still terribly pale and as shaky as someone recovering from a fever, his eyes are brighter as they focus on Harry's face.

Harry takes JB, not wanting Eggsy to trip over him – the little dog has problems with the staircase, particularly going down. The treads are just too large for JB to manage easily. Once downstairs, Eggsy follows Harry into the kitchen and watches as he reheats the soup that Walter had gotten.

"Hope you like chicken noodle."

"Isn't chicken soup supposed to cure all ills?"

"That's what I've heard." Harry stirs the soup and shares some of his ideas about the kitchen remodel. "I've always found this set up to be rather awkward."

Eggsy actually laughs. "You're telling me – and until now, you've barely cooked in it. It's a right nightmare."

"But you've managed to make it work."

Eggsy laughs, just a little. "I had thought about changing it a bit."

Harry doesn't comment about Eggsy's need to leave things unchanged as a memorial to his memory. "We should do it."

Eggsy yawns. "Yeah, in the spring. Don't want to deal with workmen in and out of the house in the middle of winter. And with you starting a new job and me going back to work, we should probably give it a few extra months until things settle down."

Harry gives Eggsy a sharp look, finally remembering the conversation with his therapist this morning. "Has Arthur said anything to you?"

"Not specifically, but he's been dropping hints when I've checked in with him. He's pleased with your progress with your therapist, said it was about time that you took your mental health seriously."

Harry puts a mug of soup in front of Eggsy. "And I'll pass that advice onto you. Don't think you're emotionally invincible. You're not. No one is."

"Merlin already said something about that when he took my weapon away. That I should talk with one of the Kingsman therapists."

Harry's surprised that Merlin didn't make it mandatory. He asks, as gently as possible. "Are you going to follow his advice?"

"Yeah. I think so. Would you recommend the shrink you're seeing?"

Harry's actually appalled at the idea of Eggsy seeing Doctor Strass. But he's polite about it. "No, I don't think so. Not because she isn't good at what she does, but I don't think that she won't be effective for you for what you need."

"And you've probably talked about me, about us, a bit. Poisoned the well, you could say."

Harry shakes his head. "I wouldn't use that analogy, because I've only spoken of you with the highest regard."

Eggsy gives him a hard stare over the edge of the mug.

"I'm serious – and although the analogy is inaccurate, the sentiment isn't wrong. Besides, I don't think she's really the type of therapist you need." Doctor Strass is a cold, clinical woman. Eggsy needs someone softer, someone who'll make him understand that the world is still a good place.

"All right. I'll get a few references from Merlin. Arthur. Whatever. I can't always figure out what to call him." Eggsy's babbling now. "When he's doing Arthur business, yeah – I call him Arthur. Or when he's in a suit and tie and looking sharp, he's Arthur. But when he's doing Merlin business, or when we're in the friendly mode, he's Merlin. Does he actually have another name, or did his parents name him 'Merlin' and he took the job because of it?"

Harry laughs. "No, but it seems that way, sometimes. Someday, when you get him stupid drunk on excellent scotch, you should ask him what his real name is."

"You know his real name?"

Harry nods. "I've been sworn to silence, and I hope you love me enough not to ask me to risk life and limb and internal organs to reveal what I know."

"Internal organs?" Eggsy is adorably confused.

"Merlin's vowed to use my stomach for his Christmas haggis if I ever told anyone."

That gets Harry a laugh. "It must be something awful, like Murgatroyd or Chomondelely?"

"Which are perfectly honorable surnames, but rather horrible Christian names. And no, neither is correct." In truth, Harry never understood Merlin's objection to Hamish, it's a simple Scottish name that could easily be Anglicized to James. But Merlin's always been particularly perverse about it.

"And I don't supposed you'll tell me if I guess right." Eggsy puts down the mug and Harry's delighted that it's empty. "It's not Archibald, is it?"

"Not even close." Harry takes the mug and puts it into the sink, with the pot he'd used to warm up the soup. He'll deal with them later. "As for what to call him – if you're more comfortable with calling him Merlin except when it's clear that he's acting as Arthur, then that's what you should do. I'd imagine that Merlin would prefer it, too."

"Yeah, he doesn't like being Arthur. I think he half hopes one of the active agents gets some kind of debilitating injury – nothing life-threatening, just something that would make him ineligible for field work. Just so he can off-load that and go back to being just our quartermaster."

Harry has to agree. "Merlin's dedicated, but balancing two roles like this isn't good for anyone. Or for Kingsman."

"But until that happens …" Eggsy yawns. "I really do need to sleep."

"Couch or bed?"

"Couch, I think. You said you'd light a fire – still up for that?"

"Certainly."

"And will you stay with me?" Eggsy bites his lip. "I don't want to be alone right now."

"Of course. I don't want you to be alone, either."

Eggsy stays in the kitchen while Harry fetches a few logs from the small stack of firewood in the back yard. They head into the living room and Harry puts his survival skills to good use, getting a nice blaze going with little effort.

He retrieves a blanket from a small chest, tosses it over Eggsy, who is already half asleep, and kneels down next to him. "Darling?"

Eggsy cracks open his eyes. "Haz? What's the matter?"

"I hate to ambush you like this, but I need to know where you've hidden weapons in the house."

"Why?"

"I need to lock them up."

Eggsy lets out a heavy sigh. "Yeah, I get that. It's why Merlin took my gun and knives before he let me get on the train." Eggsy lists a prodigious armory scattered around the house. "And there are your guns, too – I didn't move them."

Harry sweeps Eggsy's hair off his forehead and kisses him. "Thank you, dearest. I'll sit with you until you fall asleep, and just call for me if I'm not here when you wake up."

"Thanks, Haz. Thanks for caring." Eggsy's voice is a barely audible mumble. 

"There's nothing to thank me for, I do this because I love you."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	10. Time Heals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Under Harry's watch, Eggsy starts to heal from the damage inflicted in the name of Kingsman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear readers may either find this a bit of a repeat or a bit of a bonus. Last Monday, I accidentally posted Chapters 9 and 10 in Chapter 9, and while I caught it fairly quickly thereafter, it seems to have stayed cached for a few hours and became rather widely read. I'll be posting Chapter 11 tomorrow, on schedule.

For the next week, Harry keeps a very close eye on Eggsy. That isn't terribly hard, as Eggsy's doesn't seem to want to let Harry out of his sight.

Eggsy is mostly quiet during the first few days. He's content to watch Harry bake and listen to Harry talk about his plans for revamping the various Kingsman training programs. But as the days progress, Eggsy slowly returns to his former self. He might not be as witty and irreverent, but his expressions become more animated, he engages with Harry and is genuinely interested in Harry's plans. 

By the afternoon of the seventh day, Eggsy is mostly back to his regular routine, getting up at dawn to exercise and take JB for a short walk as the sun rises. They go out for lunch to celebrate Harry's last physical therapy appointment, and as they head home, Merlin-as-Arthur pings them on both of their glasses, letting them know he'll be stopping by, that he needs to talk to Eggsy. 

Merlin has come by every day, spending a few minutes talking to Eggsy in the privacy of the library. Afterwards, he spends some time with Harry, with and without Eggsy present.

Harry had been worried about the library, a room that's still kept locked and off limits to him. Before he'd "died", Harry had kept a small handgun in the desk there, and he doesn't know what other weapons Eggsy might have put in there. But Eggsy had belayed that fear, handing him the keys, but asking that Harry respect his privacy for a little while longer. Harry had given his word. He pocketed the keys and had stayed out of the library until Merlin had asked for them. When Harry had mentioned his concerns, Merlin had promised to do a sweep before giving the keys back to Eggsy and giving the single pistol he'd found in there to Harry for safe storage.

Today, Merlin and Eggsy are closeted in the library for several hours, and while Harry doesn't overtly eavesdrop, he does walk by the door and pause to listen for sounds of trauma. When he hears Eggsy's laughter, he leaves the pair to their discussion.

When they come downstairs, Eggsy doesn't mention what he and Merlin had talked about, but he seems stronger, more centered, more like the man who wears Harry's ties and shorts with a remarkably lack of shame, but blushes about using his bath products.

Merlin, who came in as Arthur but now seems to be in a sort of middling state, sticks his hands in his pockets and makes a rather unexpected announcement.

"I've reinstituted the Kingsman Christmas party."

Harry blinks. "I wasn't aware that it had been suspended." He'd never been a particular fan of the Kingsman holiday tradition, but in the years when he'd been in town, he'd attended the affair. Ostensibly it was supposed to give every member of the Kingman staff a chance to mingle on an even footing. Putting staff and agents in formalwear had a way of breaking down the social and professional barriers for the evening. Of course, Chester – that classist prick – had made things difficult. He'd wanted to make the party more restricted, invitations issued only to agents and senior staff, but he'd been consistently and rather forcibly overruled. He'd had his way in another, more devious fashion, though, scheduling the party on Christmas Eve, a night when people with families would want to be with their families. That had a way of dramatically cutting down on the number of support staff attending, since the party excluded family members out of necessity.

Eggsy explains, "Yeah – everyone just sort wanted to give it a pass the last few years. Didn't seem like we had a whole lot to celebrate, you know?"

Merlin adds, "But this year, I think we do have something to celebrate." He gives Harry a pointed look.

"Me?"

"Yes, my friend, you. Ye've returned from the dead and even more miraculously, ye've passed through the Valley of Death otherwise known as the Lazarus Protocol. If that's not something to celebrate, I don't know what is. Welcome back, Harry Hart." Merlin holds out his hand and Harry takes it, pulling his old friend into a tight hug. 

When he lets go, Harry turns to Eggsy, who holds him tight. "Welcome back, Haz."

"This means ye're both required to attend the party. Can't celebrate without the guest of honor and his better half."

Eggsy snorts in laughter. "Don't quit either of your day jobs, Merls – you ain't that funny."

"I wasn't trying to be, lad." Merlin says softly.

Eggsy looks at his feet, a warm blush covering his cheeks. As always when he sees Eggsy's reaction to praise, Harry's charmed.

"Ye'll both be expected at HQ on the evening of the December twenty-first, appropriate attire expected."

Harry's relived that Merlin's moved the date to something more reasonable, a night when everyone could attend without leaving behind angry spouses and upset children. He also makes a mental note to visit the shop for professional reasons – it's been a while since he's worn his tuxedo, and it will probably need some alterations.

"Also, I'll be sending my minions by next week to get these bloody cameras down. I'm sick and tired of watching the two of ye make googly-eyes at each other and discussing the redecorating. Yer domestic perfection is nauseating."

"Does this mean you're going to stop watching me and Harry having sex?" Eggsy's grinning like the mischievous little shit he'd been when Harry first met him.

"I didn't say that, now did I?" Merlin grins back. "But all joking aside, I think that the two of ye have earned yer privacy. In the bedroom and out of it."

Harry doesn't comment, but he now has to wonder if Merlin's been using the Lazarus Protocol to play Cupid.

"Harry, ye have a session with Doctor Strass tomorrow?"

"Yes." He plans on asking her if they can reduce the frequency of their consultations.

"Can ye head to HQ and come see me when yer done? There's a few things about yer new position that I need to discuss with ye." 

There's a look in Merlin's eye that makes Harry a bit curious and he looks over at Eggsy, who he just shrugs, although there's just the tiniest bit of a smirk at the corners of his mouth.

"Certainly. I've been making notes about the training programs and what I think needs to be changed. As Arthur, you'll need to sign off on many of them."

"Bring yer notes, we can discuss." Of course, Merlin can't resist one last jab. "And do try to be on time. Ye're not a field agent anymore."

"Well, we'll see." Harry is not committing to anything resembling punctuality. That would be conceding the battle far too early. 

Eggsy shows Merlin out and comes back to the living room. He stands there, his posture relaxed and a small smile on his face.

"You're doing all right?"

Eggsy nods. "Yeah, I am. It's still there, but it's not _there_ all the time, you know what I mean?"

"I do." Harry pulls Eggsy into his arms. "And for a man like you, who has such a great heart, who cares so unstintingly, it's never going to get easier."

Eggsy sighs, relaxing into Harry's embrace. "So, I should harden my heart?"

"No, darling. That's the last thing you should do. You need to protect it, not harden it."

"But how?"

"By doing what you've been doing. Building friendships, reaching out to other people, loving them and letting yourself be loved. That had been my mistake – I closed myself off, I thought that self-reliance meant always standing alone."

"But Merlin's been your friend for ages."

"Yes, but I've always held back. I'd only allowed him to get so close, but no further." 

"You know him well enough to know his real name, though." Eggsy looks up at Harry. "He was devastated when you died, Haz. We got the job done, we saved the world more times that we should have had to, but it took a long time for Merlin to recover. He'd never really talk about you and I could see how much it hurt when the other agents would reminisce about your time as Galahad. I don't think he actually stopped grieving did until Andrew told him you walked into the shop."

"Merlin's been a better friend to me than I've been to him."

Eggsy doesn’t disagree. "Perhaps, but you've gotten a second chance. You can do better going forward."

"When did you get so wise, my darling?"

Eggsy blushes and shrugs. "Dunno."

Harry doesn't belabor the point. Eggsy's stronger, more centered, but he's still fragile. "I'll be glad to get rid of the cameras."

"Yeah, but you know something, I've barely noticed that they're here. I guess I'm so accustomed to everything getting recorded off my glasses, it just feels normal? It's not like I've been editing my behavior."

"You mean you haven't been giving the cameras in the bathroom the finger?"

"No." Eggsy looks at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Have you?"

"Of course." Harry grins and rocks back on his heels. "Every time I go to take a piss."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Harry?" Eggsy's calling up the stairs for him. "Why is there a cab waiting? It's not that cold that we can't walk to the shop."

Harry pulls out two sets of formalwear – a rather boring Kingsman tuxedo that would be perfect for dining with royalty (he may have last worn it to a dinner with the King and Queen of Sweden) and the slightly outré, but certainly more stylish blue velvet jacket and Clan Campbell plaid trousers that Henry DeVere had worn when he'd dined with his future murderer, Richmond Valentine. There would be something rather fitting about wearing that to the Kingsman holiday fete. 

"Haz? You coming or should I send the cab away?"

Instead of dithering, Harry puts both suits into the carrier and heads downstairs. "It's a Kingsman cab, Walter's paid to wait."

"You going on a trip?" Eggsy gives a worried look to the carrier.

"No, just need a few alterations to the formalwear for the party."

Eggsy's eyes go wide and he lets loose with an impressive string of curse words. "Shit. Shit, buggering fuck. I'm going to need a monkey suit."

"You don't have formalwear?" Harry can't imagine that Kingsman hasn't properly equipped its finest agent.

"I do, but it's …" Eggsy's face twists. "Not in wearable condition. It's kind of amazing how fabric that's bulletproof can get cut like butter. There was this thing in Malta in August…"

Harry wants the details, but not now. "Well, you must let Andrew know, I'm sure he'll be able to expedite something for you."

"Yeah, yeah. I just forgot, with everything. Spend a few days in medical with stitches and then sent right out again, two months doing recon in Tashkent." Eggsy smiles. "Got back and … well, the next morning you know what happened."

"I do?" Harry's absolutely clueless.

"Yeah, you do." Eggsy's smile is bright and broad. "Some bloke I'd thought was dead walked into a tailor shop as if nothing had ever happened."

_Ah._ "I hear he's still missing an eye."

"Not that that keeps him down." Eggsy checks his watch. "We are really going to be late. You might have an hour to while away before your appointment, but I've got a meeting with a bunch of tech people at HQ, and frankly, as much as I enjoy living up to your reputation, I'd rather not be yet another Galahad who can't be bothered to show up on time."

Harry hands Eggsy the suit carrier and retrieves their coats from the hall closet. "Then let's get going."

As they step outside, Walter comes to them to take the carrier before opening the car door. He gives Eggsy a small nod. "Glad that you're back on your feet, sir."

And of course, Eggsy is gracious in his appreciation. "Thank you, Walter. It's been a rough few days and I'm better now. Thank you for your help the other day, it's really appreciated."

It's the odd hour between morning rush and the shoppers crush, so the trip to Savile Row takes no time at all. Harry kisses Eggsy goodbye in Fitting Room One, and moves over to Fitting Room Two – the one without some kind of secret passage or chamber – for the adjustments he knows he'll need on the two suits. Hopefully there's enough material in the trousers to let out.

Except his trousers don't seem to need letting out. It's just the opposite. They are actually too big and will need to be taken in.

Harry stares at himself in the full length mirror as Andrew marks the adjustments to the waistband and the seat. 

"Looks like the physical therapy has paid off." Harry pats his belly, which might lack the definition it once had (and in truth, his abs haven't had that kind of definition since he left his thirties), but it's pleasingly flat and flab-free. His torso seems to have returned to something like its former glory, and when Andrew reads him his measurements, Harry's delighted that he's now actually a bit broader through the chest and shoulders.

"Time as treated you well, sir."

"Thank you, Andrew." They repeat the process with the plaid trousers and blue velvet jacket, and Harry gets dressed. As he puts on his trousers, he wonders at his own surprise. This suit, as well as the others that he's worn in the past two months, haven't needed alterations. In fact, he's used the side adjusters to pull the waistband in.

While his vanity is appeased, Harry's troubled by the lack of situational awareness. He puts that aside, something to be discussed with Doctor Strass, perhaps. All the more proof that he's not fit for field agent status.

"Your adjustments will be finished on Friday. Will there be anything else, sir?" Andrew, who'd been his tailor since his earliest days at Kingsman, looks more delighted than Harry's ever seen. 

"Actually, yes. I'm given to understand that Galahad's formalwear had met an untimely demise. Is there any chance the cutters could piece together something in time for the holiday party?"

Andrew looks a bit puzzled and replies, "Galahad's replacement tuxedo has been ready for a fitting for a few weeks. I'm actually a bit surprised that he hasn't scheduled an appointment so we could finish it off. The staff should have contacted him a while ago."

Harry thinks he knows what had happened. "We'd been up in the Lake District for a few weeks last month, and Galahad had turned off his phone. There was no reception where we were staying."

"Ah. Then I'll have someone contact him about an appointment today. He can stop by before shop hours, but I'll need to know beforehand, so the suit can be brought up."

"Thank you."

"May I make a suggestion, sir?"

Harry is curious; Andrew has never been one to make 'suggestions' outside of a consultation. "Certainly." 

"Galahad has admired a certain fabric in a certain color. It's rather … bold."

From Andrew's tone, Harry can guess where this is going. "And he's been dissuaded from it?"

"Both Lancelot and Percival have suggested that he might regret such a loud choice for formal apparel. I think that their opinions are – " Andrew picks his words carefully, "too conservative."

"May I see this bold choice?"

Harry follows Andrew back into the shop and waits while Andrew unlocks one of the fabric cupboards. The bolt he produces is a silk-velvet in satsuma orange. It's definitely bright and it's certainly bold, but Harry finds it quintessentially _Eggsy_. It's not something one might wear to dine with royalty, but it's young and unique, and if styled conservatively – Harry is thinking short and close-fitting – it could be a statement piece for an otherwise conservative wardrobe.

"Could you have this ready for the Christmas party?"

"With black trousers?"

"No, black is too harsh. Navy, and navy lapels on the jacket."

"Yes – that would work better than black." Andrew is pleased. "If you tell Galahad that his replacement formalwear is ready for a fitting on Monday morning, I'll make sure that the cutters have this jacket pieced and ready for an initial fitting at the same time."

Harry thanks Andrew and makes a mental note to send him a generous holiday gift as he heads upstairs for his session with Doctor Strass.

Before they get started, she asks, "How is Agent Galahad?"

Harry doesn't mince words. "Fairly fucked up, but getting better. I believe he's gotten a referral for a Kingsman therapist." Eggsy had said over breakfast that he'll start sessions right after the holidays are over.

"Good. He knows that he'll do better if he works with a professional." 

"He does." 

"How are you doing?"

"I'm doing well." Harry's doing better than well, but he's an Englishman, after all.

"I've spoken with Arthur, he tells me that you've been officially cleared of the Lazarus Protocol and are free to rejoin Kingsman."

Her knowledge doesn't surprise Harry. "He gave me the all-clear yesterday. I'll be heading to HQ after our session to discuss my new role."

"Training, right? You've said that you're taking over the training programs for the whole organization. How does that make you feel?"

"Excited, truthfully." Harry smiles and sighs, basking in a certain level of contentment.

"Don't you worry that your skills will be underutilized? That you'll get bored?"

"I think it's a role that can be very challenging." Harry truly believes that. 

"You won't miss fieldwork?"

"Certainly not! I am not fit for it anymore."

Doctor Strass plays devil's advocate. "There's more to fieldwork than being able to hold a gun and shoot straight. There's reconnaissance. Infiltration. Asset development. There are all kinds of work that won't put you in immediate danger."

Harry laughs. "You've read my file, Doctor. You know that I attract trouble like a magnet. I can't remember the last time I had a simple recon mission that didn't require some kind of wet work before it was done. I can't be trusted in the field anymore."

"Why?" She seems genuinely puzzled.

"My situational awareness skills are shot." Harry explains about the trousers. "Can't be a field agent if I'm not keenly aware of everything going on around me."

"Perhaps you're overthinking this."

"Doctor, do you actually think I'm fit for field work?"

"Physically, I don't know. But mentally, I think you absolutely are. Perhaps more now than before. You've shown a level of emotional resilience that's rare for a man half your age. Don't consign yourself to a position that feels safe. It may be appealing now, but think what your life will be like in a year, or in five years. You've got a young and healthy partner."

Harry finds himself considering the point. "And I do worry about keeping up. Eggsy says he doesn't care about the age difference, but perhaps he should.."

"While I have never spoken when Galahad, I have gotten to know him through you, and I have to say that I believe he really doesn't care. And more than that, he doesn't see you as 'old'. Just more experienced, which is something he respects."

Harry digests this bit of wisdom. It feels like the truth. "You've given me a lot to think about, Doctor." Harry lets out a little laugh. "And here I was, about to suggest that we reduce our appointments."

"Actually, Harry – I was just about to tell you that we don't need to meet so often. You've shown remarkable and very genuine improvement. We'll take a break until after the New Year, but I'll be available to you by telephone if needed. Starting in January, we can go to weekly appointment for a month and then every other week for the next three months. After that, we'll reassess your needs."

"Are you sure?" Harry is not sure how he feels about this.

"It's often difficult to find a balance between useful dialogue and dependence. I'm asking you to trust me when I say that you are in remarkably good mental health for man of your age, experience and career history. You are a good man, Harry Hart. And that might be the first time I've ever said that to a Kingsman."

Doctor Strass holds out her hand and utterly bemused, Harry takes it. "Thank you, Doctor."

"Enjoy your holidays."

Harry heads back to the shop in a daze and barely realizes that Andrew's opened the door to Fitting Room One for him. 

For some reason, the journey from the shop to HQ feels as long as the trip from Kentucky to London. Harry doesn't know whether to be pleased that Doctor Strass feels he's capable of field work or angry that her opinion is playing havoc with his carefully considered plans.

Harry _likes_ the idea of training the next generation of Kingsman. Of bringing the agency truly into the twenty-first century. He doesn't want to think that he'd fail at something so important because it's not _challenging_ enough.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	11. The Next Bold Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry goes to HQ for the first time since his return, and to his dismay, Merlin tells him that he doesn't think he'd be happy heading up the Kingsman training programs.

Harry's still in turmoil when the bullet train pulls into HQ and comes to a stop. He exits, takes a deep breath, and the odor of engines and armaments and recycled air fills his lungs. This is – perhaps more than anything – the scent of home.

He's a little surprised that Merlin didn't send any of his minions to meet him, but if the restrictions of the protocol have been lifted, there's no reason to. As he strides through the corridors, he passes many familiar faces – they greet him with smiles and "welcome back, sir" – but no one stops him or questions his presence. As he leaves the underground operational complex, he's greeted by Merlin-as-Arthur's chief minion.

"Welcome back to Kingsman, Mr. Hart. We haven't been formally introduced. I'm Arthur's chief of staff, Elaine"

Harry's curious, "Chief of Staff? That's a new position."

As they head towards Arthur's office suite, Elaine describes her role. "Basically, all of the department heads report to me on an administrative level and I manage all of the agents' requirements for Arthur's time. I'm a gatekeeper and taskmaster. Arthur doesn't have time to harass department heads for budget input and quarterly reports or deal with agent's petty complaints. That's my job."

"You strike me as a very efficient Cerebus."

"Ha! I like that. Perhaps I should have that embroidered on something and hung on the wall."

When they arrive at Arthurs offices, Harry's startled to see that there's now biometric security controlling access. Elaine needs to provide a palm print and retinal scan before the door unlocks.

Harry wonders who else has access, but that curiosity is replaced by surprise when he follows Elaine into the outer office and sees himself perched on a chair.

Well, not himself, but his memorial portrait.

"Arthur asked me to take it down this morning. Living Kingsman don't belong in the Memorial Gallery. I'll have it touched up and schedule a ceremonial unveiling in the Hall of Honor."

"Touched up?"

Elaine touches her left eyelid. "That needs to be added. Unless you'd prefer to sit for a new portrait and we'll just mothball this one."

"Oh, no – I would certain not prefer to sit for any kind of portrait." Harry stares at the painting and shudders. For some reason, this – more than anything else – brings home the fact that he'd been dead to his world for more than two years.

Merlin comes out of the inner office and he's definitely in Merlin mode – complete with jumper, casual trousers and a clipboard. "Good, ye're here and ye're not all that late."

"I'm trying, but don't push me."

Elaine asks, "Tea, sir?"

"Of course." Merlin turns to Harry. "Don't suppose that you've brought any of your baked goods with you?"

Harry doesn't get a chance to answer when Elaine offers, "I've had the commissary send down a tray of lemon squares, sir. I'm sure that they are not as good as Mr. Hart's but they'll do in a pinch."

Merlin gives Elaine an appreciative nod and tells Harry to get into his office, "I don't have all day, ye know."

Despite Merlin's urgency, he leaves Harry alone for a few moments and Harry takes the opportunity to take in the changes Merlin's made. What's immediately obvious is the absence of clutter. The wealth of Chester's memorials to his perceived greatness have been swept away; if there had ever been a man who'd suffered from _horror vacui_ , it had been Chester King. 

The expensive exercise in bad taste has given way to a display of a tiny bit of Merlin's personality. An otherwise empty étagère contains a photo of Merlin's dog from his candidate days – a deerhound called Guern. There's also a small travel stained map of the Scottish highlands, and a photo of the two of them at an Arsenal game. Looking at the picture, Harry swallows hard, strangely overcome with emotion.

"We were so young." Merlin reaches around him and picks up the picture.

"You still had hair." 

"Not much and not for much for much longer. Remember the bet?" Merlin rubs his skull.

"Of course." Merlin been a Doubting Thomas about the Gunners' chances of going undefeated and taking the Premiership, and when they'd won the greatest prize in British sport, Harry had taken Merlin to the barber for a complete tonsorial makeover. No one had expected that Merlin would actually keep it shaved.

Harry sighs, remembering Eggsy's comment. "You've been a better friend to me than I've been to you."

Merlin shakes his head. "Where's that coming from?"

"I've always held back."

"Harry, ye trusted me with yer life, I know all yer secrets. Not much holding back there."

"Emotionally, I mean. I don't think I've been as supportive of you as I should have been."

Merlin actually laughs and inadvertently echoes Doctor Strass' comment. "I think ye've been overthinking things. We're fine, Harry. Ye've been just the kind of friend I've wanted and needed."

Harry's not so sure he believes that, but if Merlin hasn't felt a lack in their relationship, Harry's not going to continue to insist that there has been one.

Elaine comes in with the tea cart and a plate of pastries. "Shall I bitch the pot, gentlemen?" 

Harry nearly chokes on his own spit at that. "Bitch the pot?" 

Elaine smiles serenely and says, "It's Victorian slang for 'pour the tea'." 

Merlin laughs, takes out his wallet and hands his Chief of Staff a twenty-pound note. She takes it in exchange for a cup of tea. "Elaine was certain she could get a reaction from ye, I thought otherwise. Ye owe me."

"I feel like I've just stepped into an alternative universe."

Elaine hands him his tea. "That's quite possible. And on that note, I'll leave you gentlemen to your discussion."

Harry takes a sip – it's fixed perfectly, even without having to give instructions. He looks at Merlin and says, "So."

"So." Merlin grins at him over the edge of his teacup. 

It seems that Merlin's in the mood for head games. "You're the one who wanted to see me." 

"That's true." Merlin still isn't giving anything up.

"You want to stop with the mind-fucks?"

"Not really." Merlin opens a desk drawer and takes out a small padded envelope. "This came for ye a few days ago. Seems that Stateman's quartermaster hadn't given it back to ye." Merlin slides the envelope across the desk and Harry catches it. It barely has any weight, but there's definitely something in there. He tips the contents into his hand. 

It's his signet ring. "I'd completely forgotten about this. I'd wanted my holster and my watch back, but I'd never given a thought to the ring."

"Well, they are interchangeable."

"That is true." Harry looks at the crest – it's meaningless and only meant to convey an aura of status. But the ring itself has meaning, he'd worn it, and others like it, with pride, because it represents the secret of Kingsman. "I'm not an agent anymore. I probably shouldn't wear this."

"Do ye want to?"

"Yes, I do."

"Then put it on and never forget what it means to be a Kingsman."

Harry does, and he gets an emotional jolt. Seeing it on his hand makes Harry feel a little bit like the man he'd once been.

"Thank you, sir." In this moment, Harry truly sees his old friend as Arthur, someone who deserves the utmost respect.

Merlin leans back in his chair. "I must say, Harry, I could get used to you calling me 'sir'. Pity that I'll have to give that up."

Harry is perturbed by Merlin's comment. "What do you mean by that? Do you think I'll have a problem reporting to you? You practically ran Kingsman during Chester's last decade. I can certainly follow your orders. You were my handler for decades."

"It's not the same thing."

"No, it's not. But I don't see why you think I'll have a problem. Training is an important job, and one I know I can do well." Harry doesn't understand why this is now an issue, not when they'd settled this months ago.

"Ye really think I'm letting ye take over the training programs." Merlin's smile is now a smirk.

"Of course I am. That's what we discussed. Don't tell me you've changed your mind." Worry is becoming anger.

"If ye think back, ye asked me if you could be a trainer and I said I'd hire ye to head that up. I never actually offered ye the job."

Harry's furious. "Then why the hell have you been stringing me along? Don't you think I could do the work?"

"It's not that I don't think ye'll be able to do it, I just think ye'll be wasted. I _know_ ye'll be wasted."

Harry calms down as he remembers his consultation this morning. "You've spoken with Doctor Strass."

"We talk most days after yer sessions. Ye knew that there wouldn't be any confidentiality between ye and a Kingsman doctor."

"Of course I know that, and it was always fairly obvious that she had access to the video feeds. That has never bothered me. What I'm talking about is her assertion that I'd be bored with running Kingsman's training programs. That I need more of a challenge."

"Ye do, Harry. And ye will be bored. Not in a week or a month, but give it a year and ye'll be climbing out of yer skin."

"I'm not going back into the field. I … can't." Harry shakes his head. "It's not the eye or the tremor, it's me. I … can't _not_ see Valentine's gun." This is something he's never spoken of, not even in therapy. "I'll choke if you put me back in the field. I'd be a liability, not an asset."

Merlin's smile fades. "I'm sorry that yer hurting like that, but I'm pleased that ye trust me enough to admit that."

"Then what? Are you saying there's no place for me here? That you're so certain I'll wash out that you won't even give me a chance?" Disappointment is like bitter ashes in Harry's throat.

"Harry, ye're jumping to conclusions." Merlin sighs. "And perhaps I am too enamored of the mind games. If ye really want to take over Kingsman's training programs, ye can. But I think ye suited for something much greater. Something far more challenging." 

"If you're not asking me to go back into the field and you think I'm suited for something more challenging that training, what else is there?" Harry feels like he's missing something.

Merlin stares at Harry, as if he's trying to will him into making some kind of connection.

And Harry does. "No. Merlin – just … no." And yet, even as Harry declines what hasn't been formally offered, he can see the possibilities, he can see Kingsman under his hand.

"It should be yer ass in this seat. Not mine. I'm a placeholder, Harry. Ye've been reborn; not as a knight but as our king."

Harry feels a hot flush burn across his cheeks. How many times had he thought he could do so much better than Chester? That Kingsman needed a knight at the helm, not some blue-blooded, pencil-pushing snob who'd never been in a life-or-death situation? But he has questions, and the most important one is, "How long have you been plotting this?"

"Since ye first returned from the dead, when ye showed up at the shop looking as if butter wouldn't melt in your mouth. Ye were like a gift from the gods, one I wasn't going to pass up the chance to put ye in this seat unless I had to."

Harry thinks about some of the strange things that his former colleagues have said, some of the odd looks he's gotten, and those things begin to make sense. "Who else knows?"

"I took Elaine and Percival into my confidence from the start. I needed a sanity check. I've also had conversations with the senior medical staff who did the checks on ye. When I got their buy-in. and once I let Kingsman know you were alive, I started sounding out other agents to get their opinions."

"You told Doctor Strass, of course."

"Not until last week, although I suspected that she's had an inkling of what I have been planning."

"Galahad? Has he known all along?" Harry's a little sick at the thought that Eggsy had known of this and let him blather on about the plans he had for the Kingsman training programs.

"Not until yesterday. And I'll be honest with ye, Harry, everything hinged on him. I asked him point blank if he could take orders from ye, if he could follow your commands without bringing in yer personal life. Or if yer being Arthur would break what the two of ye have. If he as much hinted he'd have a problem, I'd have scrapped the plan altogether."

Harry's not the least bit offended. "Of course, Galahad is far too important. And that's not just a lover's pride talking. You'd have to take his feelings into consideration."

"Eggsy and Roxy and the agents who come after them are the future of Kingsman, not the current stock of middle-aged men in good suits with minor entries in Burke's Peerage. Eggsy told me ye thought he'd make a good Arthur someday. He expected me to laugh; I told him ye were a man of great vision." Merlin taps his own left eye.

"Very funny." Harry's not amused.

But Merlin is, and shakes his head. "For the record, yer lad believes that ye taking the crown is a splendid idea and doesn't know why he didn't think of this himself."

"We'd actually talked about you the other night; Eggsy said he thought you were hoping that one of the active agents would get a minor disability so you could off-load Arthur onto him and go back to your cave. Neither of us considered that I could be a candidate for the job." Harry shakes his head at such foolishness.

"So, are ye interested?"

"I shouldn't be." It's a lame excuse, but Harry protests, "I have a kitchen renovation planned for the spring. How can I manage that if I'm running Kingsman?" 

"If ye do this, I'll get yer renovations done. I'll even buy ye a fancy new oven like the ones they use on Bake-Off."

"I can't be bribed, Merlin." Of course he can, and Merlin knows this. 

Merlin doesn't let up. "Come on, Harry. You want this. I can see it in yer one remaining eye." 

Harry does, but he wonders if he's going to regret this. "I feel like I should be doing a better job negotiating terms."

"What else do ye want?"

Harry does have one serious requirement. "I don't want to die in this job. I want to be able to have a say in my successor."

"Ye want Eggsy to replace ye?"

"Ideally, but if there's someone better qualified twenty or twenty-five years down the line then they should be considered. I don't want to cling to this chair like Chester did."

"I think that's an excellent idea."

"Write it into the contract." When Merlin raises an eyebrow, Harry adds, "Or I walk. This is not negotiable."

"Actually, it's something that had been in every other Arthur's contract until Chester." Merlin gets up and goes to the credenza where Chester used to keep his booze. Some things don't change, it seems.

And some things do. Chester had been a snob through and through and preferred pretentious vintages of brandy. Merlin takes out a bottle of sixty year old Macallan and pours them each a measure.

"To you, Harry Hart, our Once and Future King."

"Fuck off, Hamish."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The better part of the next two hours is spend hammering out the terms of Harry's assumption of the leadership role and he finds himself gifted with an unexpected asset, Elaine, Merlin's Chief of Staff. Or more accurately, _Arthur's_ Chief of Staff.

Once Harry had accepted the offer, Elaine returned to the inner office to take notes and witness the negotiation. When Harry comments that he'll regret losing her, Elaine replies, "My position, sir, is to support Arthur's seat, not to the person who occupies it." 

"Which is a good thing, because ye'll not be able to do this job without her. Elaine's a trained barrister and the former official secretary to Her Grace, the Duchess of Cambridge." 

Harry masks his surprise, but asks, "How did you come to Kingsman? We have high standards, but poaching the Royal Household is usually beyond our reach."

Elaine glances over at Merlin, who nods, giving her leave to tell the story. "I'd been scooped up when Valentine kidnapped the entire Royal Household. I'm afraid that when Galahad opened my cell door, I nearly brained him."

Merlin adds, "Not one of Eggsy's finest moments, but he survived."

"And a month or so after we'd returned to London, Her Majesty knighted Galahad, Lancelot and Merlin – "

Harry does a double-take. "Wait, the three of you had been honored? Eggsy's never mentioned this."

"CBEs for the lot of us." Merlin's smirking again. "And what is it that you'd say, a gentleman never boasts?"

"Still…" Harry turns back to Elaine, filing this away to discuss with Eggsy later. "My apologies for interrupting. You were saying?"

Elaine smiles softly. "I'd wanted to apologize to Galahad for attacking him, and right then and there he asked me if I wanted to join Kingsman. Gave me a speech about being the most dangerous job interview in the world."

Merlin sniffs, clearly annoyed. "The lad stole my thunder, Harry."

Elaine ignores Merlin's complaint. "His recruitment speech was irrelevant, I knew all about Kingsman. My great-grandfather had been the fourth Gawain and the third Arthur."

"Cedric Mumford." Harry had devoured Cedric's memoirs his third summer as a Kingsman, when he'd been laid up with a broken leg.

Elaine continues with her story. "He told me that Kingsman had three positions to fill and would I like to be his candidate for the Ector slot. Of course, I jumped. With Her Grace's blessing."

"How far did you get?" 

"I washed out in the nighttime sharpshooting test. Apparently, I have a non-severe case of congenital night blindness. Under ordinary circumstances, it has no impact on my ability to see in reduced light, but I cannot use night-vision equipment and that poses a rather obvious problem for a field agent."

Merlin picks up the story. "I could have let Elaine go back to the Royal Household, but frankly, I needed someone of her skills here and would have fought the Duchess in a cage match to keep her. I strongly suggest that ye make Elaine's position board-level, like the Quartermaster and the Chief Medical Officer."

Harry likes the idea, "I've always thought Gwenivere got a raw deal in the mythology and should have a place of authority within Kingsman. It is something we must consider."

"Yer already sounding like Arthur, with the royal 'we'." When Harry starts to apologize, Merlin cuts him off. "And thank the gods for that."

Merlin, not Elaine, goes to make a fresh pot of tea, giving Harry a bit of privacy to discuss the transition. "What I haven't asked, are you all right with this?"

"I told you, the Chief of Staff supports Arthur, whoever that happens to be."

"That's all well and good, but Merlin recruited you, you've gotten used to working for him. And while I can see that you are invaluable to Arthur, that doesn't obviate your right to make a choice of where and who you want to work with."

Elaine gives him a pitying smile. "With all due respect, Mr. Hart, if I go to the Quartermaster division with Merlin, you'll fall flat on your face in a week and Kingsman will descend into utter chaos. You are not an administrator, sir. You are, however, a leader. One who has walked through fire for his country and for Kingsman, one who has the admiration of everyone, but admiration won't run this organization. You need me and my staff."

"You have your own minions?"

"Of course." Elaine's amused by Harry's naiveté. "You really don't think I make tea and bring biscuits myself, do you?"

"I hadn't given it a thought, one way or the other."

"I have a rather lovely young man to do that for me. He's also a third degree black belt and frequently gives lessons in Aikido to the knights. I believe he's humiliated Percival on several occasions."

Harry sighs. "Kingsman has changed in my absence." And he adds, so Elaine doesn't think he's mourning the old ways, "and definitely for the better." 

"So, we are in agreement?" 

Harry holds out his hand and when Elaine takes it, he says, "Absolutely. I'm a figurehead to inspire the troops; you are the real power behind the throne."

"Basically, yes."

Merlin comes back with the tea and an expression of deep satisfaction. "So, ye all sorted?"

"Of course," Harry replies. "Elaine's made it perfectly clear how everything will work."

"Ye'll listen to her and do as she says and everyone will prosper."

Just as they are finishing up, Harry's phone pings with an incoming text. It's from Eggsy.

_I'm done here. Should I come by Arthur's office?_

Harry can feel the tentativeness in those two short sentences.

Merlin asks, "Is that Galahad?"

"He wants to know if he can come by."

"Or in other words, he wants to know if ye've accepted the crown."

"I can't really keep this from him." 

"I think my intention on making ye Arthur is likely the worst kept secret in Kingsman right now."

"You still have to put this to a formal vote, no?" Harry knows the rules, no less than three-quarters of the active knights must approve the election of a new leader.

"I've gotten informal consent from every knight to make the offer to ye. But we'll need a table vote to make it official, which I've scheduled for tomorrow. We'll keep it under official wraps until the party and make the announcement to the staff then."

"I feel like I've been played." Harry smiles and shakes his head. "You've had this whole thing plotted out, right down to the bloody Christmas party."

"Of course. And tell Galahad to come by. He should be the first of the knights to know."

Harry sends his reply, _Certainly_.

Less than a minute later, a doorbell rings with a six-note chime. Harry looks at Merlin in disbelief. "Is that _Country Roads_?"

"What would ye have me use instead? _Scotland the Brave_?"

"How about a simple 'ding-dong'?"

"What's the fun in that? And remember, when ye take possession, ye can change the damn doorbell sound to whatever ye want."

Elaine brings Eggsy in and he looks cowed. At least until Harry smiles. 

"You've talked?"

"Yes."

"And you've agreed?"

Harry nods. "There's been a bit of negotiating, but everything is in place."

Eggsy sighs with relief. "May I give you my oath, sire?" His words are part of the formal rite of investiture.

Merlin says, "It's not official just yet. We'll convene for a vote tomorrow and then start the transition process. The official handoff will happen on the first day of the New Year."

Looking at Eggsy as he stands before him, perfect posture, perfect tailoring, perfect grooming, exuding strength and confidence, and yet clearly still recovering from his experience last week, Harry realizes that while he's called Eggsy "Galahad", he's never truly seen him _be_ Galahad. And he wants to acknowledge it. 

Harry says, his voice filled with unexpected power and authority, "With Merlin's leave, I would be honored to take your oath here and now, in private, Galahad. You are the first of my knights."

Merlin nods his approval. Galahad drops to one knee, takes Harry's hands between his own, and recites the Kingsman oath.

When he finishes, Harry, now Arthur, now the Once and Future King, pulls Galahad to his feet. He gives him the three ritual kisses that Arthur must give to each knight when he makes his oath – one of the forehead, to symbolize the protection that Arthur owes to each knight. One on the right cheek, for the honor of the oath maker, and one on the left, for the honor of Arthur himself.

Of course, Galahad, sixth of his name, uses the privacy of Arthur's office to make an addition to the rite. He threads his fingers through Harry's hair and pulls him close, to kiss him on the lips. And if that kiss becomes something more than polite ritual, Harry has no cause to complain.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	12. Upon the Oath, I Do So Swear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so, Harry becomes Arthur, fulfilling a destiny he wasn't ever aware of.

"So, you're a Commander of the British Empire." Harry drops that tidbit casually as they dine over take-away Chinese.

Eggsy blushes beautifully. "I wanted to tell you, Haz, but I wasn't supposed to talk about anything work-related until you'd been cleared. And that didn't happen until yesterday."

"I'm not complaining, I'm just impressed. 'Sir Gary Unwin, CBE'."

"Actually, it's Sir Galahad of Kingsman, CBE. Her Majesty suggested that we should not have our real names entered in the public lists, although if we want to use our titles, we can and the Master-At-Arms will confirm them. So Roxy is Dame Lancelot – couldn't move Old Lizzy about the gender thing – and Merlin's Sir Merlin, and ain't that a hoot?"

Harry almost chokes on that. "Please tell me you're joking. You are _not_ Sir Galahad."

"Swear down, Haz – I am." Eggsy's grinning like he's just played the most fantastic joke on him. "The letters patent are kept in the Kingsman vaults. I can show you mine if you don't believe me."

"No, no – I do believe you. It just seems … ridiculous."

"Maybe." Eggsy shrugs. "At the time, it was kinda nice. There had been so little to be happy about. We'd saved the world, but at a terrible cost. Merlin had been dragged kicking and screaming into Arthur's seat, and the first order of business had been forcing the remaining knights to acknowledge me as Galahad. I don't know for sure, but I suspect that there was some blackmail involved."

Harry can believe that Merlin would blackmail agents to do his bidding if he had to, but not for this. "Surely not! Every agent I've talked to has said you're the best thing that's happened to Kingsman."

Eggsy blushes again. "Not so sure about that – at least back in the beginning. But I think they like me all right now. I do know they'll eat me out of house and home if I give them a chance. And I suppose, now that you're back with Kingsman, I should start up the poker nights again. You do play, right?"

"Of course. Poker, baccarat, all the games of skill that a dashing super spy is supposed to excel at."

"Did you just make a James Bond joke?"

"Allusion, not joke. And yes, I do play poker, although would it be fair for Arthur to play against his knights?"

"That never stopped Merlin."

"Fair enough." Harry sees that Eggsy's done with dinner and collects the dishes, letting Eggsy dispose of the cartons and tins from the takeaway. They'd both agreed that this could be one night when they didn't have to fuss over cooking and sitting down in a restaurant seemed a little strange after the events of the day.

They head to the living room and Harry's delighted when Eggsy cuddles up next to him.

"Have a question for you, Haz."

"Ask away, darling." Harry feels Eggsy's tiny tremor of delight at the word and vows to use it as much as possible.

"Christmas. Would you be interested in doing some low-key celebrating?"

"Low-key?" 

"Yeah – not the whole shebang, but _something_? I don't have too many good memories of Christmas. I'd tried to make a special day for Daisy when she was a baby, but she'd been too young and nothing seemed to go right. Dean had been piss-faced, mum had been stoned and … " Eggsy sighs, "I'd just wanted Dais to have a good time and there'd been just a whole lot of screaming instead." 

"I'm sorry, Eggsy. I wish – "

"Don't, Harry. If things had been different, we wouldn't be here, like this. Which is kind of why I think I'd like to celebrate. Everything's changed now. Staying bitter and angry about the season is kind of pointless, especially since we're so happy now. I thought, maybe, we could do something small. A tree, a couple of gifts, maybe a small dinner party on Christmas Eve for friends who don't have blood family to celebrate with?" 

Eggsy's looking at him with so much hope in his eyes that even if Harry had found the idea repugnant; he'd give into Eggsy's request.

But he doesn't find the idea repugnant at all. "I'd like that. I'd like to start our own traditions, just the two of us. And Mr. Bauer, of course."

JB raises his head from his bed in the warmest corner of the living room, apparently realizing that his humans are talking about him.

"Thanks, Harry." Eggsy rests his head on Harry's shoulder, sighing with contentment.

Harry's curious about something, "How do you manage the holidays with your mother and Daisy in New Zealand?"

"This is the first year that Mum's been with them in New Zealand. She's sent me a list of things that Daisy wants and I've already ordered them on line and had them shipped to her directly. And I'll try to find something special here in London and mail it out – usually after the holiday is over, so Daisy will have something extra to remember about her big bruv. And I've sent my Aunt Emily money to get Mum something nice, too. It's so weird to think that they are in the middle of summer now, and will probably be taking a holiday at the beach when we're freezing our nuts off."

There's so much longing in Eggsy's voice – not for a beach holiday – but for his family. Harry's overheard many of Eggsy's Saturday night calls to his family, but he knows that video chatting can't replace seeing them in person.

"How long as it been since you've been to New Zealand?"

"Not since I took Mum to live with them, that's about seven months ago. I had a month-long job in Macau, and Merlin had planned to re-routed me to Christchurch and give me a week's holiday, but something came up that needed my particular skills and then there was that thing in Malta that sidelined me for a week, and then I got sent to Tashkent for two months."

"And then this." 

"Yeah, _this_." Eggsy stretches up and kisses Harry's jaw. "This. Love you, Harry." Eggsy fumbles a bit with the buttons on Harry's cardigan, worms his way under Harry's dress shirt, and is stymied by the vest. "Wanna go upstairs? I'd like to swear allegiance to Arthur's cock, you know."

"Aren't you being a bit cheeky, Sir Galahad?" 

"Yeah, I am. I wanna practice sucking you off all nice and quiet like, for when we have sex in your office and Elaine's just outside the door."

Harry is instantly and almost painfully aroused. "That sounds delightfully wicked, _Sir_ Galahad. And here you are, supposed to be the purest of my knights, but you're going to do your best to corrupt your king."

Eggsy looks at him, mischief in his eyes. "Only in the best possible way."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry waits outside of the boardroom at HQ, and he's far too nervous for what is supposed to be a sure bet.

He'd left the house before Eggsy and arrived early for the first time in his life – hours early. Sitting in the antechamber, Harry had been greeted the agents as they'd arrived. Bors and Gawain had been extremely effusive in expressing their delight at this development; Percival just grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. While Lancelot hadn't smiled at him – Harry has a feeling that she rarely smiles – she'd nodded in seeming approval. Of course, when Galahad had arrived, he'd hugged him and whispered some naughty ideas into his ear, while Merlin had just sighed and rolled his eyes.

As he waits, one of Elaine's minions, perhaps the pretty boy with the black belt, brings him tea and biscuits, which he's too nervous to eat. People come and go. Doctor Strass shows up and ignores him as she goes inside, but a half-hour later, when she leaves, she nods at him and there's something approving in her normally detached expression. Morgana, the Kingsman Chief Medical Officer, arrive just after Doctor Strass leaves and gives him a warm greeting before heading into the boardroom. 

Harry waits for over two hours, schooling himself to patience, when finally Eggsy opens the door and he's practically shining with joy. But he does remember who he is and what he needs to do. "Mr. Hart, will you join us?"

As he enters, everyone present in the room, and everyone attending as holograms, stands as one. This vote is not a formality, but a formal ceremony.

Merlin, who is – for the last time – Arthur, asks, "Who comes before this assembly?" His tone is crisp, with no trace of his native Scotland apparent.

Before Harry can answer, Galahad speaks. "Henry Reginald Hart, who has honorably served Kingsman and his nation as Galahad, Fifth of His Name."

"And for what purpose does this former Galahad come before us?"

Harry keeps silent, letting Eggsy speak for him. 

"He comes, not as a supplicant, but as one summoned to serve, to protect, and to honor. He has come at our behest, to lead us, to protect us, and to keep our honor."

Merlin approaches and rests his hands on Harry's shoulders, and Harry kneels. "This company of men and woman have agreed, without exception, that you, Henry Reginald Hart, who was once known as Galahad, Fifth of His Name, shall be our leader. Do you consent and accept the obligation lain before you?"

Harry offers Merlin his hands, as Eggsy had yesterday, and answers, with as much emotion as he'd felt so long ago when he'd given his oath to Arthur. "I do."

"And do you swear to honor the principles of Kingsman, observe the tenets of this great organization, to protect the weak and helpless, to respect your fellow man, regardless of wealth or birth or station, and to oppose that which is cruel and unjust, and to lead by deed and not by word?"

"Upon this oath, I do so swear."

"Then rise, and be known henceforth as Arthur, Seventh of His Name, the acknowledged leader of Kingsman."

Harry gets to his feet, not sure what is left of the ceremony. When Merlin smiles, he knows that what is to come will be a bit less history-laden. Eggsy presents Merlin with a small box. 

"Yesterday, I returned to you a signet ring that had gotten left behind in your travels. Today, I ask that you remove that ring, in exchange for this one." Merlin opens the box and takes out another signet ring, one that is far less anonymous than the dangerous tool that Harry now wears on his right pinky finger. It's gold, but instead of some vaguely noble crest, it bears the Kingsman logo, outlined in rubies.

As Harry takes off the signet ring and as he slides the Kingsman ring onto his finger, the room erupts in a loud cheer. He blinks back a sudden rush of tears and looks for Eggsy, who's standing next to Merlin and looking at Harry as if there is no one else in the room.

For the next hour, Harry takes everyone's oath – starting with Merlin and ending with Eggsy, although this time, Eggsy doesn't tongue-kiss him. The knights who have been attending by hologram recited their oaths and will repeat them when the return to HQ.

As soon as the last cheek is kissed, someone starts opening the champagne and the solemn ceremony becomes a bit of freewheeling fun that lasts for hours. It's close to midnight by the time the revelry begins to wind down – Bors says its practice for the Christmas party coming up. Alastair rolls his eyes and comments that Bors is the last person in the room who needs practice partying.

Eggsy finds him and Harry smiles down at his darling knight. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I am."

Harry leans down and presses a soft kiss on Eggsy's lips. He can almost taste his Galahad's surprise. Harry looks at Percival, Bors, and Gawain, who'd joined them. There's no censure in their expression, just gentle understanding, and in the case of Percival – Alastair – a touch of sadness. The three of them drift away, leaving Harry with Eggsy in a small bubble of privacy.

"We should stay the night, Haz."

Harry thinks that is an excellent idea, except for one small, four-legged problem. "What about JB?"

"He's already in my quarters. I had a feeling this was going to be a late night."

Harry snakes an arm around Eggsy's waist and leads him through the room to bid everyone goodnight. This, as much as the kiss, is an announcement to Kingsman of where things lie between Arthur and Galahad. No one looks at them with censure or concern and Harry wonders if that is as much a mark of the changing times or a reflection of how much they respect Galahad.

Merlin is the closest to the door and the last person they bid goodnight to. Harry expects _some_ comment, but all Merlin does is wish them a restful night's sleep.

They don't say much during the walk to Eggsy's quarters, which are – unsurprisingly – Harry's former quarters, since Eggsy had succeeded Harry as Galahad. Harry wonders if Eggsy has kept these rooms as unchanged as he'd kept the house. 

To Harry's relief, Eggsy hasn't, if only because Harry had never put much effort into making the rooms into anything more than a place to crash after a mission or when he'd been laid up with an injury but healthy enough to be released from constant medical oversight. He'd kept these rooms anonymous, mostly unchanged from the time he'd inherited them thirty-odd years ago. 

While most of the furniture is the same, which isn't a shock, since it's all heavy Edwardian oak and impossible to shift without chopping it into firewood, it's clear that Eggsy has put some thought into making this space comfortable. There's a new seating area and a table piled with books; the rug is new as well, and bright and coordinated with the rest of the fabrics, even JB's bed. This is a place of comfort and retreat.

The pug looks up at their entrance and trots over for some affection. Eggsy asks, in the utterly nonsensical tone that humans use when talking to their pets, "Were you a good boy for Brandon or did you piss on his boots again?"

JB barks once, Eggsy laughs and gives him a good belly rub before sending him back to bed.

"Brandon?"

"One of the assistants kennel masters. JB likes the guy, but he has a habit of pissing on the man's wellies."

"Ah." Harry's not sure what else to say. And then, to his embarrassment, he lets out a rather prodigious yawn. "I don't suppose when you planned on staying here tonight, you thought to pack a bag for me?" 

Eggsy points to a small duffle bag on the floor next to one of the chairs. "Brought your jim-jams and your toiletries, plus a fresh set of clothes for tomorrow. Your double-breasted navy suit is in the wardrobe. And tonight, the robe is mine." With that, Eggsy heads into the bathroom.

Harry calls after him, laughter in his voice. "Excuse me, Galahad, but Arthur does not wear _jim-jams_."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	13. Raise the Roof So I Might See the Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry starts easing into his new role and discovers that his chief of staff, Elaine, is such an enabler when it comes to Harry's happiness. And his libido.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is all about the porn. And the feels. Lots of porn. LOTS OF FEELS.

The rest of the week passes in a flurry of business. The transition of power might be organized this time, but it is still complicated and time consuming. The ceremony is the most visible sign of change, but the business of Kingsman is deep and wide, managed through hundreds of companies in dozens of countries and the leadership change needs to be properly recorded in each and every entity. 

Thank god for Elaine.

Harry's hand aches at the end of each day from all the documents he's signed. He jokes with Merlin about moving everything to digital, and Merlin doesn't argue with him, but Kingsman is an organization steeped in tradition and there is just too much tradition to be ignored.

One of the more delightful tasks is reaching out to, Champ, the Stateman's leader, via secure video conference.

_"So, Harry, you let 'em make ya their king. I don't know whether to congratulate or pity you."_ Champ rubs his chin.

"I'll have to let you know about that. It's early days still."

_"Must say, you do look good, though. I guess being home suits ya."_ Champ chuckles at his own joke.

"It does. And I want to thank you and your people again for the good care you took of me."

_"You're welcome, Harry. Or should I call you Arthur?"_

"I'm fine with either, Champ."

Champ adds, _"While I never hope to have an agent so badly injured, I'd like to think that you and your people would do the same for a Statesman."_

Harry's quick to confirm that, and adds, "There is something I'd like to discuss – along those lines."

_"Oh?"_

"Intelligence organizations are supposed to keep secrets, but sometimes, keeping the wrong secrets can been devastating. With your agreement, I would like to let my agents and senior personnel know about the existence of Statesman. Merlin's told me about the 'Doomsday Protocol' both of our agencies have in place in case of disaster, but I don't believe ignorance of each other's strengths is the best for our people and our agencies."

Champ laughs a little bitterly. _"I have to tell you that my predecessor had proposed the same thing to your former leader about twenty years ago. The man had been a pompous asshole and turned him down, said he saw no reason why any Kingsman would ever need assistance from some bunch of rotgut swilling hillbillies."_

Harry winces. "Unfortunately, that does sound like Chester King and you have my deepest apologies for that."

_"Apology accepted. Your proposal sounds interesting, Harry."_

And Harry can hear the hanging _but_ at the end of that sentence. "I'm not expecting you to give me an answer now, and I'm certain you'd like to think on in, but if we could reconvene after the New Year and discuss, I would appreciate that."

Champ agrees, wishes him and the whole Kingsman operation a Merry Christmas, and signs off.

Harry sighs and looks at Elaine, who'd been taking notes. "That went well, I think."

"I agree." She checks her tablet. "I've scheduled a two hour break for you for afternoon tea. I believe Galahad is just finishing a run on the obstacle course with Lancelot. Shall I tell him to come here after he cleans up?"

"Please do." Harry wonders if Elaine is setting up a tryst for him and Galahad. He becomes certain of it when Eggsy arrives and Elaine says she has to head down to the tech department and she's locking the door behind her. She'll be back in an hour and will have tea brought in then.

Eggsy is freshly showered and perfectly groomed from the top of his gleaming head to the soles of his polished oxfords and Harry wants to do nothing more that mess that perfection up. His boy looks a little bemused by Elaine's behavior, at least until Harry gets up and stalks across the room, backing Eggsy against the wall, grinding a thigh between Eggsy's legs. Harry delights in his lover's instantaneous arousal.

"Haz?"

"I think you said something about oral sex in my office?"

Eggsy licks his lips. "You want me to go down on you?"

"That would be nice, perhaps tomorrow, but today, I think I want to suck your cock until you come in my mouth. Then put my cock up your ass and fuck you on my desk until you're a babbling, wrecked mess." Harry uses the leverage his height gives him to pin Eggsy to the door with his thigh.

"Jesus fuck, Haz – you have such a filthy mouth." Eggsy leans back against the wall, thighs splayed and very clearly aroused.

"Seeing you so perfect brings out the monster in me, my darling." Harry pulls his Galahad over to his desk, hoists him up so his ass is resting on the edge. "But you'll have to let me spare my knees." Harry sits in his desk chair and adjusts the height so it's perfect for sucking Eggsy's cock.

"Whatever, Haz, just get your mouth on my dick before I explode."

"Hmm. Maybe I should just tease you. Make you come all over yourself like a naughty schoolboy." Harry cups Eggsy's bulging cock, squeezing delicately, rhythmically. "Just pull your lovely cock out of your trousers and make you mess yourself up."

"Harry, Haz – please. I wanna feel that filthy mouth on me."

Harry swoops down and mouths Eggsy cock through the wool trousers. It's not an enjoyable texture, but Harry can smell Eggsy's lust mingle with the scent of soap and wool and cotton, which is the essence of pleasure. Eggsy thrusts against Harry's mouth and Harry grips Eggsy's hips, holding him still.

"Patience, my darling. A gentleman never rushes in."

"Fuck you, Harry. You're no fuckin' gentleman." Eggsy squirms under Harry's hands. "Please, Haz. Please suck me. Or fuck me. Don't care if you don't have any lube, you can use spit or whatever. Just need you."

"Do you know how much I love making you desperate?" Harry does, and he also thinks he needs to have a conversation with Eggsy about Eggsy's willingness to let Harry hurt him for the sake of sexual pleasure.

"Do you know how much I don't care?" 

Eggsy tries to undo his trousers and Harry finally relents, pushing Eggsy's hands away and undoing the button and slowly dragging the zipper down. "There, there, just be patient." Teasing Eggsy may just be one of the most enjoyable things in the world. "Good things come to those who wait."

"And I repeat, fuck off or fuck me."

Harry's tempted to leave Eggsy there, hanging – if just to teach him a lesson. But that's no fun, so hepulls Eggsy's trousers to mid-thigh, but only lowers Eggsy's tight black boxer-briefs – the ones he'd stolen from Harry – just down enough to reveal his cock and balls.

"Have I told you, my dearest, that you have the prettiest cock I've ever had the pleasure to suck?"

"No, but then, you ain't sucking anything yet."

Harry adores that he's been able to wreck Eggsy's speech; that his boy's reverting to his cockney accent. Maybe it's time to take Eggsy's powers of speech away altogether and he licks a wide stripe from Eggsy's balls to the tip of his cock before swallowing him.

While Eggsy's cock isn't long, it's thick and meaty and deep-throating is always a challenge, and if there's one thing that Harry loves, it's a challenge. Of course, he's done this to Eggsy before – the first time had been on a rented sailboat on Lake Windermere in the middle of the lake, and again most recently as last night – but taking all that lovely, hot flesh down his throat is still _a challenge_ .

The noises Eggsy usually makes – the moans and curses and avowals of love – are missing and Harry looks up Eggsy's body. His boy is biting on his wrist to stifle himself and Harry releases Eggsy's cock as punishment. 

It takes just a few seconds for Eggsy to realize that Harry's stopped sucking his dick. "What? Why did ya stop?"

Harry takes Eggsy's arm and turns it over to display the bite marks visible in the wool. "Is this any way to treat fine tailoring? I thought I'd taught you better than that."

Eggsy sniffs. "Dinna think you'd want anyone to hear us."

Harry checks the time on the clock hanging opposite his desk. "Elaine won't be back for another forty-five minutes and I don't think anyone would hear us in the hallway."

"And you don't really care if they do, do ya?"

"No, I don't." Harry wonders if that's a side effect of being dead. And then he doesn't wonder at all as he returns his attention to Eggsy's cock. Deep throating is all well and good, but he wants to wreck his Galahad. He toys with him, sucking and kissing and licking – not just Eggsy's cock, but his balls, too. 

"Harry, you fucking, fucking tease."

"Language, Eggsy."

"Fuck, fuck you, fuck me. Fuck, fuckfuckfuck _fffffffuck_."

Another check and Harry still has plenty of time, although his jaw is beginning to ache and if he keeps at it like this, he won't be able to speak above a whisper. But he does keep at it, tormenting Eggsy, bringing him to the edge and pulling back and starting again. Harry's own arousal is a steady throb, but in a way, almost irrelevant. His pleasure is focused on Eggsy's desire, on the sheer will his Galahad's showing. Harry can feel Eggsy shaking beneath him, sobbing and panting and crying.

Harry kisses the base of Eggsy's cock and gets up, leaning over Eggsy. "Do you want to come, my darling?"

Eggsy looks at him, his face flushed, his lips bitten to perfect, swollen plumpness, his eyes wild. "Please, please – I need to come. Please let me come, sir."

Much like that time at the house in the Lake Country, it's that last word that takes Harry's own arousal off the back-burner. Harry can't resist this side of Eggsy, submissive in word if not in deed.

"Of course, darling." Harry kisses Eggsy's mouth, letting Eggsy taste himself on Harry's lips and tongue, before settling back between Eggsy's legs. 

Eggsy's tone has changed, he's no longer cursing and demanding, he's quietly begging, promising Harry the world and Harry can't resist. He pulls Eggsy's shorts down and teases his hole. It doesn't take more than that, just Harry's index finger pushed in to the first joint and Eggsy comes in Harry's mouth.

Harry, the gentleman that he is, swallows everything. When he's done, he rests his head on Eggsy's thigh and Eggsy cards his fingers through his hair. 

"Haz?" Eggsy shifts and tries to sit up.

"You all right?" Harry helps Eggsy sit up.

"Mmm. Yeah, couldn't be better. You?" Eggsy reaches for him.

"I'm good."

"You going to fuck me now?" Eggsy's grin is a bit dazed.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible. You've unmanned my, my dearest. I've come in my pants like a schoolboy looking at his first porno."

"You sure you can't get it up again?" Eggsy cups his dick and to Harry's jealous admiration, it starts to plump up again.

Harry just gives Eggsy a look.

"Okay, okay. But tonight?" 

"I'll do my best." Harry gestures to Eggsy nakedness. "Elaine will be back in a few minutes; perhaps you'd like to cover up your glory?"

Eggsy drops down from the desk and tucks himself into his shorts and pulls up his trousers. Other than the swollen lips and the high flush on Eggsy's cheeks, he looks much as he had when he'd first arrived. Harry, on the other hand, knows he's a mess. 

"If you'll excuse me?" Harry gestures to his groin. "I need to – ah – clean up."

"You know, Haz, if we're going to make a regular thing of this – you probably should keep an extra change of clothes in here. And maybe some lube and condoms?" Eggsy isn't being a cheeky shit; he's utterly serious.

Harry unlocks and opens his one of his desk drawers and pulls out a package of underwear. He invites Eggsy to take a look before heading to the attached en suite.

Eggsy whistles at what he finds. "You really are a regular Boy Scout, Haz."

"It always pays to be prepared."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Cradling a cup of tea in his hands, Harry looks at the small Christmas tree that Eggsy had procured and set up sometime over the weekend. A weekend that Harry had spent at HQ, reviewing financial documentation, talking with bankers, and signing yet more paperwork. Saturday night had been the first night that he'd slept alone since the vacation at Lake Windermere, and the first night that he and Eggsy had slept in different locations since Merlin had turned him over to Eggsy's care and keeping almost three months ago.

Harry looks over at JB, dozing in his bed and says, "I don't like it. But it's not like I have a choice, Mr. Bauer, do I? Come the New Year, Eggsy will be back in mission rotation and you'll be spending a lot of time with me at HQ."

JB gives him that head tilt – as if he actually understands Harry's words. 

"I'll have a bed for you in the office and you'll get to know Elaine and her own army of minions. One of them will be on call for walkies, unless Elaine tells me that I need to get off my ass."

JB barks at that, so maybe he does understand what Harry's saying.

Harry sighs. He'd always known that this would be his life, whether he's simply heading up training or being Arthur. Eggsy is a field agent and will likely spend most of his life not here, if Harry's own career is a measuring stick. Of course, Harry could abuse his power as Arthur and keep Eggsy close by, but that would be criminally unfair and would doom their relationship.

"I need to appreciate what I have, Mr. Bauer. Not long for what I don't."

The pug doesn't answer. He's sound asleep after a hard day of doing nothing more than being cute. 

Harry sighs, feeling a bit lonely and forgotten, which is his own fault. Eggsy had sent him a text this afternoon saying that since Harry was tied up at HQ, he would be spending the day with his old friends from the estates and wouldn't be back until dinnertime. Harry had gotten the message just as he'd boarded the bullet train, but didn't want to tell Eggsy that he'd finished up earlier than expected.

Eggsy deserves an afternoon off.

And besides, Harry still needs to find Eggsy's Christmas gift. He doesn't have to hit the shops for it, and technically, he'll be giving Eggsy something that Eggsy already owns. But that's a technicality that Harry mentally hand waves away. 

Harry leaves the tea cup on the mantle and goes down to the basement. It's a clean and well-lit space, with a workbench set up for weapons maintenance, as well as one for more ordinary household projects. In addition to the gun safes, there's a document safe, which is Harry's destination. Before today, he hasn't had cause to open it and he hopes that Eggsy hasn't wiped the codes. Not that that would stop Harry, but he isn't in the safe-cracking mood at the moment.

To his relief, Harry's code and thumbprint are still accepted, and the door unlatches with a polite electric ping. Although this is a document safe, there aren't that many documents here. His will had been kept at his lawyer's office, with a copy at HQ. The only documents in the safe are some stock certificates which are likely worthless, but they should be brought to Eggsy's attention, an old passport, and his mother's birth certificate. Harry is looking for a leather case, containing some trinkets of relatively minor value, including his maternal grandfather's wedding band.

He finds it easily enough. It doesn't look as if Eggsy had ever looked inside the box, and it's possible he'd never explored the contents of the safe at all.

Harry heads back upstairs and then up to the bedroom. Sitting in the chair by the window, he looks at the ring – the white platinum gleaming softly in the winter sunlight. This isn't going to be just a Christmas gift; it will be Harry's promise to Eggsy of a future together.

The old demons chatters at him, trying to dissuade him from his course. Eggsy is youth and vitality and shouldn't be tied to a man twice his age; one with all the handicaps of a life lived dangerously. There's a new demon adding its voice to the chorus – he's Eggsy's boss now, he has too much control over Eggsy's life. How can Eggsy ever say no to him?

Harry doesn't listen to those discordant songs. One thing he's learned from his sessions with Doctor Strass is how to tune out these negative thoughts and remember that Eggsy is his own man. A man with an indomitable will, and as much as he loves and admires and respects Harry, he cannot be easily influenced. 

He puts the ring back in the worn velvet bag and needs to find a place to hide it. The bedroom closet or dresser is a bad idea – they share bits and pieces of their wardrobes. Harry has turned the tables on Eggsy and has taken to wearing Eggsy's socks. Their undershorts and ties are communal property, and Eggsy borrows Harry's cardigans at will.

So Harry heads to the office, which isn't a space that Eggsy ever uses. In fact, Eggsy had given him the keys to the door and the desk after they'd returned from Lake Windermere telling him that this should be _his_ sanctuary, like the library is Eggsy's. The piles of ugly artwork are gone, thank goodness. Davis Carlyle had survived V-Day and had been utterly thrilled to take everything on consignment for auction. 

Also gone are the cameras that Merlin had installed – in here and throughout the house. The repainting had given Harry an excuse to take down the broadsheets. He doesn't plan on rehanging them – he needs no further reminders of his triumphs. Eggsy hasn't rehung his, either, saying something about keeping them in a scrapbook, instead, since the walls are so perfect now.

Harry puts the ring in the back of the bottom drawer and reminds himself to get a box for it. Just as he's heading back downstairs, the front door opens. Harry's a little startled to see Eggsy wearing one of his old Jeremy Scott jackets, track pants, and a pair of Adidas trainers – thankfully without wings.

"Well, this is a bit déjà vu, Harry, isn't it?" Eggsy's smile is a bit off-kilter.

"Sorry?"

"You in that cardigan, looking like you're a fucking prince; me looking like a cheap chav crawling home after a night in the gutter." 

There's something wrong – Eggsy's standing there, shoulders back, fists clenched, as if he's ready for a fight. 

Harry realizes that they are wearing clothing that's disturbingly similar to what they'd had on in that terrible fight, but somehow, that's not really the issue. "Eggsy, darling, what's wrong?"

It must be the 'darling' that helps, because the anger seems to dissipate, leaving Eggsy a little gray and sad.

"Let me get out of this crap and we'll talk, okay?"

Harry doesn't follow Eggsy into the bedroom, as much as he'd like to, but it's not hard to sense that Eggsy needs his space. Harry retrieves his mug from the living room and goes to put on a fresh pot. Tea helps everything.

A few minutes later, Eggsy comes downstairs, dressed in his own version of Harry's own at-home wear – jeans, a white button-down and a dark blue jumper. As gorgeous as he is, Eggsy still looks like shit when he sits and lets Harry fix his tea.

Harry waits, there's no point in pressing for answers until Eggsy's ready to say something.

"Thought I'd spend the day catching up with my old mates, been a while since I've seen them." Eggsy's tone is subdued, defeated.

Harry doesn't say that Eggsy could have invited them over; it's not his place – literally and figuratively – to suggest that. If Eggsy had wanted to see his old friends before today, if he wanted to invite them over, he would have, with or without Harry's approval.

"And how are they?"

Eggsy stares into his tea. "The same. Same old Ryan. Same old Jamal. The same guys I've known since grade school."

Harry understands, he thinks. "And that's the problem, isn't it? You've changed, but they haven't?"

"Yeah. I've changed at lot, but they never will. It's not that they're losers. They've got real jobs, Jamal is training as a medical technician, Ryan an apprentice carpenter and he's gotten engaged, even without his girlfriend being up the duff. They're doing really well, better than ninety percent of the people who grow up in that hellhole."

Harry prods, "But?" 

"They are so limited, so narrow."

There's something else there, and Harry asks, "Homophobic?"

Eggsy makes a disgusted face and nods. "They're not like Dean and his mutts, who'd bash guys for holding hands, but yeah – they're not exactly open-minded about it. It was one thing when I had to peddle my ass to get money to keep the heat on, but to be with a bloke by choice? It's hard for them to deal with."

Until this moment, Harry had never known for certain that Eggsy had been a sex worker. There had just been that comment from that horrible little man in the pub; if he could, he'd rip Dean Anthony Baker apart for forcing Eggsy into that life. It's also a good thing that Michelle's in the Antipodes; otherwise he'd have some choice words for her about letting her son sell his body because she couldn't shift herself to get a job. But that's not for the here and now.

"They weren't happy when you told them about us?"

"You know, it would have been okay if they'd just made a few poofter jokes. I could have beaten the shit out of them and we'd have been fine." Eggsy sighs. "But they'd gotten hung up on your age."

"Ah." Harry doesn't want to say anything more than that. 

"And I probably shouldn't be upset, they really don't know any better. You don't see a lot of older guys in the Estates who aren't cruel bastards like Dean or broken down wrecks, or drunks, or stoners. Hell, anyone more than forty is a fucking fossil. And fifty? You might as well be Methuselah."

"I am something of a fossil, darling."

"Harry, you are the fucking light and delight of my life. And the only thing fossil-like about you is your prick when it's up my ass." Despite the humor, Eggsy still looks wrecked. "The thing is, they'll never see your value to me and it's not because they're mean or stupid, it's just who they are. They make shite jokes about Viagra and old man dick and they don't get it. They'll never get it."

Harry reaches out and takes Eggsy's hand. "They won't get what?"

"Why the age difference never mattered to me. Why it will never matter."

Harry thinks the answer is simple. "Because you love me."

"Yeah, but it's more than that." 

Harry's startled to see that Eggsy is on the verge of tears. He squeezes Eggsy's hand. "Tell me, what is it?"

"They kept at me, saying that I should marry you, that you'll leave me a rich widower. But what they'll never know is that the chance is that I'll bite it in the field before you die. That you'll outlive me by decades. We lost two agents to Valentine – you and Ector. Since then, three others have been killed in action – Agravaine, Erec and Gareth. Three agents in two years. The world's getting more fucked up by the year, and the odds aren't in our favor. So, you see why your age don't matter a rat's ass to me? I love you and I'm going to grab every minute I can with you because there's no guarantee we'll have all the tomorrows we deserve." 

A few weeks ago, Doctor Strass had asked Harry to imagine what his reaction would be to Eggsy ending their relationship. At the time, he'd thought her words had felt like a bullet to the brain, the worst injury he'd ever endured. But that's nothing compared to what he feels hearing Eggsy give voice to his most terrifying nightmare.

Harry reaches for Eggsy and pulls him into his arms. "Please, my darling, please don't say such terrible things."

"It's true, Harry. I will always promise to come home to you, but I think there's going to be a day when something makes me break that promise." Eggsy buries his face in Harry's shoulder. "I don't care what those idiots say, I love you and if you love me – "

"I do, with all my heart."

"Then nothing else matters. Not age, not class, not that we're two blokes, not that you're posh and I'm an ex-rent boy chav with a criminal record. None of that matters one fucking bit."

"No, Eggsy. It does not." Harry's struggling not to cry. 

They cling to each other for a bit, until JB comes in to investigate and starts to whimper as he senses their sadness.

Eggsy kneels to soothe JB and giving a watery laugh as the dog licks his face. After reassuring the dog that everything's fine, JB goes to his bed and starts working on a squeaky toy. 

"Sorry." Eggsy lets out a shuddering sigh. 

Harry gathers him in his arms again. "For what? For giving voice to my greatest nightmare?"

Eggsy nods. "And for being such a downer. I thought I'd get home, make dinner, you'd put on some seasonally-appropriate music and we'd do a little decorating. Christmas is next week. Instead, I come home and just let it all go. I'm sorry."

Harry realizes something. "What's the date?"

"Shit. It's the seventeenth. I completely forgot."

"I'm so sorry, love. I should have remembered, too. Whatever I did at headquarters today could have waited for a few hours, another day. It wasn't critical."

"It's all right, Haz. It's not like I've marked the day in other years. Mum always wanted to forget, and it isn't like there's a grave or a headstone for my dad. And since he wasn't an agent, just a trainee, he's portrait's not in the memorial hall."

"Maybe that should change. There are plaques commemorating Kingsman staff who'd been killed in action – not just agents, but support personnel. Your father died saving my life, Merlin's life, James' life. He should have been honored above all others." Harry has an idea. "He should be honored – it's not too late."

Eggsy looks at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Could you do that?"

"My darling, you and the other knights just made me Arthur by a unanimous vote. I can do pretty much anything I want, including officially honoring the memory of the bravest, most unselfish man I had ever known." Harry's certain that if Lee had been a man of high status or good birth, Chester would have had a memorial created especially for him and marked the day on Kingsman's official calendar.

Eggsy stands up and steps back, his posture straight and his expression solemn, but clear. "Thank you, Arthur."

Harry is careful in his response. "It will by my honor to rectify this oversight, Galahad."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	14. Finding the Holiday Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas, the first one that Harry and Eggsy share, the first one either of them deliberately celebrate for the first time in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A relatively short chapter with much smut. A note, and perhaps a bit of a warning - rentboy roleplay.

Despite the difficult afternoon, or because of it, Harry gently insists that they stick with their plans for the evening and decorate the tree; an old phonograph album of traditional Christmas carols playing in the background. Given the size of the tree and the small quantity of ornaments that Eggsy had bought, it shouldn't have taken so long, but it seems that both Arthur and his Galahad possess utterly complementary perfectionist streaks.

They need an hour to drape the lights because the spiral has to be precisely spaced (Harry retrieves a tape measure and a set of calipers to ensure that). The tinsel garlands face the same issue, but worse. Eggsy things they should go anti-clockwise, crossing over the lights, Harry thinks the garlands should highlight the lights, and be strung parallel, to give the tree a barber pole effect. Which means they try it both ways and in the process, end up messing up the careful alignment of the lights. 

JB just looks at them and sighs a doggy sigh, clearly disgusted with his humans.

Three hours later, the tree is a marvel of symmetry and color and Harry feels immensely satisfied. Eggsy hands him the star, saying "You do it, I'll just end up knocking it over and I'll be fucked if we do this again."

Harry does as Eggsy asks, silently agreeing that this has been a process that has stretched his patience. But once Harry puts star in place and Eggsy turns off most of the lights, Harry has to admit there is something rather enchanting about the tree. 

"It really does feel like Christmas." Eggsy leans against him. "I actually like it."

Harry kisses Eggsy's forehead. "Me, too, darling. This was a good idea – we'll have our own traditions."

"Complete with calipers and a slide rule."

"Measuring tape, not slide rule. You're not old enough to know what a slide rule is."

"I beg to differ." Eggsy points at the tape measure still sitting on the mantle. "That's a slide rule – a ruler that slides."

Harry looks at Eggsy, who's grinning like a fool. "You're taking the piss, dearest, aren't you."

"Of course. And I know what a slide rule is, you fossil."

"I deserved that."

"Yeah, but I love you even more for it."

As a reward for their hard work, Eggsy orders takeaway and they eat in the living room, in front of the tree, which reminds Harry of something. "One of the nights that you were away, Bors and Gawain paid a visit."

"Oh?" Eggsy doesn't seem concerned.

"Bors mentioned something about not being allowed to eat in the living room. Neither of them would tell me what happened."

Eggsy pokes his chopsticks into the lo mein container and covers his face. "That is a night I would never like to be reminded of again."

"So, I shouldn't ask for details?"

"Please, if you have any finer feelings for me, Haz, you'll forget that they ever mentioned it."

"Never let it be said that I caused you any unnecessary trauma."

Eggsy gives him a look, one that sets the hair up on the back of Harry's neck and Harry realizes what he just said. Once the New Year comes and Harry takes over full time, Arthur will likely cause some very necessary trauma in Galahad's life.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry groans when the alarm goes off. It's Monday morning, it's still dark and will be that way for another two hours. Which means it's far too early to be heading to the shop. Under normal circumstances, not even Eggsy working out in the spare bedroom, wearing nothing but trainers and a jockstrap, could induce Harry to get out of bed any earlier than he has to.

But he has to. Andrew had let him know that his formalwear is ready for pick-up. If he can bring Galahad with him, perhaps Harry would like to oversee the fitting of the new suit that he'd commissioned for him. 

Knowing that these fittings are easier before the shop opens for business; Harry reluctantly gets up, showers, dresses and catches the last few minutes of Eggsy's sweaty performance. And what a performance it is. Eggsy ends his morning workout doing chin ups on a bar he'd installed in the doorway and he's so perspired that by the time he flexes in a display of manly strength for the last time, the cotton jockstrap is around his ankles and his cock and balls are swinging freely.

Dropping to the floor, Eggsy doesn't bother pulling the scrap of fabric back around his hips, and just steps out of it. As he stares at Harry, Eggsy licks his lips and his dick starts to chub up.

Harry sighs and shakes his head. "A gentleman arrives at his appointments on time, it's rude to keep people waiting."

Of course, Eggsy rolls his eyes. "Seriously? Haz, you've never been on time in your entire life. Hell, you were late to your own funeral."

"My funeral was premature. And if I take you back to bed, we'll be here until noon."

"Spoilsport."

"You have no idea how much I really do want to take you back to bed and make you come until you scream."

Eggsy smirks and offers an alternative. "How about you watch me rub one out in the shower?"

"That sound like an excellent suggestion, and it is perhaps the best reason for having a glass enclosed shower."

While the bathroom is still warm and humid from his own earlier shower, the only concession Harry makes to the situation is to remove his suit jacket.

Wearing nothing but trainers, Eggsy is the picture of living, breathing sin, or perhaps Harry's most pornographic imaginings.

"You like what you see?" Eggsy pretends nonchalance as he leans against the shower door.

"Very much, my dear boy." Harry knows, if they're not careful, this could descend into some very dangerous role play.

Eggsy, though, has no compunction about crossing that line. "It'll cost ya, guv." 

Harry sucks in his breath and decides that this ride to hell is worth it. "How much?"

"You wanna see me wank? Pull on my dick until I come all over that nice clean glass? That'll be twenty quid."

"What else are you offering?"

"You could – " Eggsy bites his lips, a sly look in his eye, "Tell me what you want me to do, how you want me to do it. But that's more expensive."

"I'll give you a hundred pounds if you follow my direction and don't come until I say you can."

Eggsy's eyes widen in mod surprise, "You poncy rich guys are really willing to pay for it, aren't ya?"

To add to the realism, Harry takes out his wallet from his jacket, pulls out the money and drops it on the counter. "Yes, my boy, I am. Now, turn around, bend over, and take off your trainers." For good measure, Harry adds, "Slowly."

Eggsy does as commanded, bending from the waist with admirable flexibility. Harry admires the smooth skin and tells himself that the variety of scars are badges of honor; they are grace notes telling Harry that Eggsy's survived just so he can give this little show.

All thoughts of scars are forgotten when Eggsy parts his thighs and lets Harry see his hole, still a bit red from the tender fucking he'd given it last night. There are a pair of matching, though faint, bruises on his buttocks, too.

"Well, aren't you a tease."

Eggsy stands up, looks over his shoulder, and gives Harry a filthy grin. "You like the view?"

"What's not to like about a well-fucked asshole?"

Eggsy bites his lip, spreads his legs a bit wider and bends forward, leaning on the glass. "The guy who fucked me has the biggest dick I've ever taken, but he knows how to use it, how to make a boy feel _really_ good."

Harry struggles not to toss all his good intentions aside and grab Eggsy. He might still be spent from last night, but that doesn't mean he can't make Eggsy pay for teasing him like this. "I do hope you were paid well."

"Honestly, bruv, I woulda paid him for the pleasure. He was a right gentleman, ya know."

"Mmm, well, I'm not such a gentleman."

"But ya definitely paying well."

Harry can't really quite believe how this morning has turned out. Perhaps he needs to start getting up before the sun. "Now, turn on the shower, but kept it on low." A few years ago, Harry had refitted the master bathroom with an elaborate set of jets and rain heads, but he'd never foreseen using it quite like this.

"Oooh, aren't you the fancy one, bet you take all the boys in here."

"No, you are the first."

Eggsy turns on the shower as instructed, keeping the water volume low so he can hear Harry.

"What pretty nipples you have."

That startles Eggsy. "Huh?"

"You have a beautiful torso, you could have modeled for Praxiteles, but your nipples are exquisite."

"Don't know who this Praxiteles guy is, but thanks." Eggsy runs his hands over his chest. "So you like my nips?"

"Very much so. Pinch them."

Eggsy is deliciously obedient, and it seems to pay off. His boy moans in pleasure and his already aroused cock is now flush against his belly.

As for Harry's own dick, it's defying the expectations of age and is chubbing up nicely. Perhaps they will be late, after all.

"Ya like what I'm doing?" Eggsy asks with a breathy moan that's not the least bit faked.

"Very much so, my boy. A few years ago, a friend of mine gave me a picture of a beautiful young man, mostly naked and dripping wet. You remind me of him."

Eggsy gives Harry a puzzled look, and there just might be a bit of hurt in it, so Harry adds, "It had been from an competition, the first night, and my friend had administered a rather surprising test.

As comprehension dawns in Eggsy's eyes, Harry continues. "I loved that picture and I can't tell you how many hours I'd spent thinking about that beautiful boy and his magnificent nipples. I'd masturbated to countless fantasies of him, tormenting him, teasing him, making him cry out for release, just by playing with his nipples.

Eggsy's panting now, both hands pinching his nipples, his hips thrusting out. "You fucking, kinky bastard."

"Do you think you could come just from touching your nipples, boy?" Harry doesn't know why he hasn't indulged in nipple play with Eggsy before this.

Eggsy whines, "Dunno, don't think so."

"Would you try, for me?"

Now Eggsy gives him an up-from-under look. "Mebbe if you make it worth my while. I could put some effort into it."

Harry plays into the fantasy and takes out his wallet again, pulling out another pair of fifty pound notes. "Will this do?"

"Oh, you _are_ the guv. I'll do my best for that. No ones every paid that much to fuck my arse, forget about watching me wank."

"Well, I certainly expect to get my money's worth."

"Don't worry, guv, ya will."

Eggsy is definitely putting on a show now, flicking at his nipples, pulling on them, and from the state of his cock, it's not all for Harry's benefit. 

"You know, I did have one particularly favorite fantasy." Harry loses himself in the memory for a moment.

"Ya gonna tell me, guv?"

"Hmmm, it is a bit dirty."

Eggsy laughs, low and throaty. "And what we're doing isn't?"

"True enough." Harry licks his lips, he's a little afraid to give voice to this one, but he's committed to it. "My boy - the boy from the picture - he's actually my pleasure slave." As Harry says the words, his cock goes from half-mast to fully hard.

Eggsy moans and breaks the fantasy, "Fucking hell, Haz - you filthy pervert, I love you."

"Well, I love you, too."

"Don't stop, you damn Scheherazade, don't you fucking stop."

"Of course not. You see, my lovely pleasure slave would do anything that I asked, he had no boundaries, no sense of self-preservation. If I asked him to crawl, he would until his knees bled, if I told him he couldn't use his hands to eat, he'd kneel at my side and let me feed him. And when I said I wanted to piece his nipples, he came in my hand like a fountain."

Eggsy himself looks like he's about to come. He's still toying with his nipples, but one hand keeps drifting downward.

"That's not what we bargained for, my boy. No touching your cock."

Eggsy leans forward, letting his head rest against the glass. The water is gently raining against his back and thighs. "Go on, guv. Tell me what you're going to do with me." Eggsy unwittingly, has shifted Harry's fantasy from third person, to first, making himself the pleasure slave, not the unnamed boy from the picture. 

Harry gasps, now painfully aroused. He opens his trousers and pulls out his cock, squeezing the base to hold off his orgasm. "I wouldn't take you to some tatty piercing parlor, you are far too precious to me to risk your health. I'd call a specialist and they'd come here, to the house. I'd bring them up to the office where you'd be waiting, a bit nervous, but very excited, too.

"In fact, you're so excited that you can't sit still for the technician to do their work without hurting you. So I sit down in my desk chair and pull you against me. I wrap one arm around your waist and hold you still. With my free hand, I tease your nipples, plumping them up for the piercing. I can feel your heart racing, and I'm sure you can feel my cock, hot and hard, against your ass. If it isn't so unhygienic, I would have you pierced while my cock is up your ass."

With those last words, Eggsy comes, semen splashing against the glass walls, with enough force to be heard over the steady wash of water. Harry isn't far behind and grabs a nearby hand towel, coming as hard as he ever had as a teenager.

"Haz?"

Harry looks up at Eggsy, who's now leaning back against the tile and slowly sinking onto the bench seat.

"Yes, my darling?" With shaking hands, Harry wipes himself clean and tucks himself away. If Eggsy hadn't called him "Haz", he might have worried that this role play had gone too far.

"You are such a fucking kinky freak. And I love you all the more when you let that flag fly. Just sayin'."

"It takes two to play this game. And I love you all the more for being so equally kinky."

"Yeah, I am, ain't I."

"Wash up. We still have plenty of time, so I'll take you out for breakfast." Harry leaves the money behind on the countertop, Eggsy's earned it. And then some.

A half-hour later, just as the sun is lightening the London sky, Eggsy comes downstairs, dressed in a navy three-piece suit and one of Harry's more adventurous ties.

Without a word, they head for the front door. Harry helps Eggsy on with his coat, Eggsy returns the favor, and they each take a Rainmaker from the umbrella stand.

The cafe is doing a brisk business and Devon, the poor boy, is too busy to flirt, but he is quick to bring them their coffee and take their order. 

"Can I ask you something?" Eggsy reaches out and takes Harry's hands.

"Of course." Harry has no idea what Eggsy wants to know.

"Did Merls really give you a picture of me after the drowning test?"

"Absolutely."

"And did you really wank over it?"

Harry nods. "That very night. And many times after I'd woken up from that unfortunate coma."

Eggsy stares at Harry, his eyes blazing. "And that fantasy, the one where I'm your pleasure slave, did you really have that, or was it something you just made up, on the spot?"

Harry lifts up Eggsy's hands and kisses his knuckles. "It's one of my particular favorites."

Devon picks this highly inopportune moment to come by with their food.

As Eggsy breaks the shell on his soft-boiled egg, he mutters, "Fucking hell, Harry. You might as well kill me now."

Harry just smiles.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	15. Count the Blessings That Are Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the annual Christmas party, Harry is formally introduced to Kingsman as the new Arthur. He takes the time to get to know the people who he now leads. Also, a conversation with Roxy and a waltz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since tomorrow is my birthday, I decided to post the last two chapters and the epilogue today. Everyone has just been so lovely in their appreciation that I thought it would be nice to post the rest of the story now.

The ballroom at HQ is exquisitely decorated, like something out of a Victorian fantasy, which is quite a change from its usual appearance. The room is too big, too central, to be left unused for the majority of the year, which is why it usually functions as the Kingsman gymnasium, complete with protective flooring and walls. The first time Harry had seen it as a Kingsman cadet, he'd done a double-take at the gigantic crystal chandeliers that floated high above the various sparring rings.

Tonight, there should be no sparring, with _should_ being the operative word. 

Harry clearly remembers a Christmas party in the late nineties, when Bors, then a newly minted agent, and the then-current Agravaine, a man of difficult temper and deeply seated prejudices (he'd been a favorite of Chester's), had come to blows over Kingsman's responsibilities in sub-Saharan Africa. 

Harry doesn't foresee such difficulties at tonight's gala. The current composition of the Table seems to be made up of agents who share an equal dedication to peace and justice, and not just for white men. Perhaps V-Day, perhaps the rapid loss of five agents in the field after so many years of stability, had a way of resetting priorities. 

"Evening, Arthur." Bors approaches and hands Harry a glass of Champagne. 

Harry ought to remind Bors that his appointment still hasn't been announced to the general Kingsman population, but in the two weeks since the vote, almost everyone he's encountered at HQ has addressed him as such. Instead, he says, "I was just thinking about you."

"Oh?" Bors grins. "Good thoughts, I hope."

"Just remembering the year that you and old Agravaine had gotten into a fist fight after the first course."

"Ha! I remember that party. I'd broken the bastard's jaw and in the process, shattered three bones in my right hand. Couldn't wank properly for a month."

Harry winces. "Did I really need to know that?"

"No, but still." Bors smiles and shrugs. "Don't think there'll be any fistfights tonight. We're all so well behaved."

"I was just thinking about how the organization's changed. How we all seems to be pulling together towards a common goal. A lot less infighting, a lot fewer displays of self-investment."

"A lot less bullshit, you mean," Bors says, with typical vulgarity.

"Exactly. I'm inheriting a rather well-tuned machine."

"Thank Merlin for that. Two years under someone like him, someone with a will of iron and has little patience for classist and racist stupidity and a rather formidable way of enforcing his opinion, has a way of straightening even the most bone-headed of us out. And if there are any of us who think that they'll be able to return to their old ways, they'll be sorely mistaken. You're not the same as Merlin, but you are equally terrifying when you're disappointed."

Harry can't help but remember what happened after Eggsy failed the dog test. "Ah, yes."

Bors adds, "Merlin's like a lead-filled sap, you're stiletto, razor sharp and infinitely deadly. You kill and your victim walks away, not realizing they're dead until an hour or two later." 

The compliment rocks Harry back on his heels. "Well, thank you. I appreciate your support."

Bors just laughs. "Rumor has it that you thought you'd be heading up the training programs."

"Yes. Well." Harry sips his Champagne. "I should have seen it coming, shouldn't I?"

"Probably." Bors rocks back on his heels. "But I think you'll be better for not having seen it coming."

Harry nods, not sure what to say to that.

Bors drifts off and Harry goes to mingle. Eggsy's here, of course, and he's hard to miss in his new satsuma orange velvet tuxedo. Harry occasionally gets a glimpse of him out of the corner of his eye; they'll both keep circling the room and meet up eventually.

"May I have a moment of your time, Arthur?" 

Harry turns to the left and finds that Lancelot has snuck up on him, or perhaps she hadn't deliberately intended to approach him from his blind side. "Of course." Harry bites off the "my dear"; while the Kingsman party isn't a professional setting, it would be quite beyond the pale to address her that way under any circumstance. They are neither intimates nor friends, and even the privilege of age wouldn't excuse such disrespect.

"Privately, sir?"

Harry nods and they head towards a small alcove created by a few strategically placed urns filled with seasonal greenery. "Unless you want to head out into the garden, I'm afraid this is the best I can do."

"This is fine, besides it's a bit cold for a walk in the garden." Lancelot is wearing a strapless gown in frosty blue with a shawl so gossamer that it wouldn't keep her warm in a summer breeze.

Harry feels a bit at sea; his relationship with this particular agent is not an easy one. "What can I do for you?"

Lancelot gives him a strange look. Well, strange for her, since it's soft and a little vulnerable, and she's never looked at him with anything less than outright coolness. "I wish to apologise to you, sir."

"Whatever for?"

"For what I'd said to you that first day at your house. When I said that I didn't believe you would treat Eggsy right, that you'd hurt him by simply being the man you are. I was wrong about that, about you, and I am ashamed of myself for jumping to conclusions."

The apology is surprising and appreciated, but Harry still feels the need to own up to the truth of Roxanne's original comments. "You weren't wrong. You were reacting to the evidence you had. I had lashed out at Eggsy that last day, I was thoughtless in my anger and disappointment. That Eggsy has had to grace to forgive me is a miracle that I will never cease to be thankful for. And I am also grateful for the love and support and friendship you've given to Eggsy. I know that my return has interfered with that to some extent, but as our lives return to something normal - "

Lancelot chuckles, "Normal for a Kingsman, you mean."

"Exactly. Eggsy returns to active agent status after the New Year, the same time that I take up the reins as Arthur full time, so your friendship should revert to what it had been."

Roxanne shakes her head. "No, it won't."

"No?" Harry can't imagine why Eggsy and Roxanne's friendship would change.

"That's not how it works. Eggsy has you, now. You are and will be the primary focus of his personal life, and that's how it should be. I am Eggsy's friend, one of several, and my place in his life is secondary." Lancelot doesn't seem troubled by that.

Harry wonders if he should say anything about Eggsy's old friends, the young men who'd inadvertently caused him such grief. "Not as many friends as he used to. My relationship with Eggsy has taken its toll on some old connections."

"Ryan and Jamal?"

"You've met them?"

"Good kids, but … limited. I'm not surprised that they're less than accepting. The environment they live in doesn't engender much tolerance."

"So, you see, Lancelot - "

"Roxy, sir. Please, when we're talking about personal stuff, it's easier if you use my name."

Harry nods, "Then please, when not on official business, call me Harry."

Roxy's smile is warm. "I'd be delighted."

"But as I was saying, Eggsy needs his friends - you most of all. I can say, with absolutely certainty, that there will be times that Arthur will drive his Galahad to anger and frustration, and he'll need your friendship. And you will need his, too. You two have a bond that should be treasured. It's been generations since two agents were made out of the same training cohort, and that give you something unique."

Roxy give him a grateful smile. "Thank you, Harry."

"You are most welcome, but may I ask a question?"

"Certainly."

"What made you change your mind? You'd been most adamant in your concern."

"Yes, that was quite the shovel talk, wasn't it?" Roxy grimaces. "I'm sorry for threatening you like that."

Harry doesn't smile at her contrition. "While we can debate the necessity of it, I am convinced that if I cause Eggsy the least bit of distress, you will actually pluck out my other eye."

"Well, perhaps. But you wanted to know what made me change my mind?"

Harry nods.

"I've been watching you and Eggsy."

For a moment, Harry's confused. Then he remembers. "Ah, that's right; Merlin put you on observation duty until he took the lid off my miraculous reappearance."

"And I kept watching, whenever I could. I knew you weren't compromised, not in the slightest, but I was worried about Eggsy, about what living with you was doing to him."

"Ah." Harry's not the least bit unhappy about this. He'd always been aware that someone had been watching him and Eggsy in their most intimate moments. "And what are your conclusions?"

"That living with you, day in and day out, is making Eggsy happier and more content than he's ever been in his entire life. He's able to take care of you while you take care of him. No one's ever done that for him. No one's looked after him like that."

"Eggsy deserves so much better from the universe." Harry doesn’t have to mention that Eggsy had deserved better from him.

"I've watch you, watched how you look at him, how you react to him. Eggsy's not an easy person – he'd got a lot of deep cracks that are only papered over and they'll probably never fully heal. He's been badly damaged and it shows.."

"I beg to differ. Eggsy is a delight, and not just because he likes to take care of people." Harry adds, "To take care of me. If he's moody or difficult, it's never without reason."

Roxy shrugs. "Perhaps, or perhaps you don't notice the cracks because they are similar to yours."

Harry smiles, liking that idea. "Yes, you're right. I think they are."

At that, Roxy nods. "And that just confirms it."

"What?"

"That you are good for Eggsy. That you see him as an equal. Most people of our class would recoil at being compared to a man with Eggsy's background"

"Oh, my dear Lancelot – " This time, Harry can't be bothered with political correctness. "Eggsy isn't my equal at all. He is so far superior to me, in every possible way, that I can only hope to bask in the light of his glory. Birth, upbringing, education, all of this things have little to do with the man that Eggsy is. His innate goodness shines through with every action, every word." Harry remembers that conversation with Doctor Strass. "And no, he's not perfect, but he is a truly great man."

"He's also a man with a wounded soul."

"I know, and I do my best every day to help heal those wounds." And before Lancelot – Roxy – can say anything else, Harry add, "Especially the ones I'd inflicted."

There's something rather steely about her posture now, but it doesn't seem to be projected at him. "There is something you should know about Eggsy. Something that might help you both."

"And what is that?"

"Eggsy needs permanence. Giving him the house has been a good start."

Of course Roxy doesn't know about the will, and everything else that Harry had bequeathed to Eggsy.

"But a house is a thing, and Eggsy needs people. He needs to know that you will be there for him, always." There's an intensity to Roxy's gaze, as if she's trying to tell him something beyond the words.

"Eggsy values his symbols, I've noticed. He puts great stock in the visible manifestations of commitment."

Roxy nods, slowly. "He might have been utterly freaked out by Mr. Pickle at first, but it didn't take long for him to make your damned stuffed dog part of his life. Do you know he says good morning and good evening to the damn thing?"

Harry shakes his head. "No, but somehow it doesn't surprise me."

"You do understand what I'm saying, Harry. You understand what Eggsy needs?"

"Absolutely, and rest assured, the visible symbol of my permanence is – how can I put it – incoming." Harry is a past-master of oblique conversations, but this is getting slightly ridiculous.

Harry gets a glimpse of orange velvet as an arm snakes round his waist, and Roxy's smile of satisfaction changes to something that looks like alarm. Harry might not have much peripheral vision, but he knows when Eggsy's close, and he's certain that his love hasn't overheard anything.

"Everything all right, love?"

Harry grin at Roxy – since he can no longer wink – and draws Eggsy close, saying. "Everything is perfect."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Back when Chester had been the head of Kingsman, the annual Christmas party was a dull and mostly lifeless affair – except for the occasional fisticuffs. Which is why Harry had been delighted to hear that Merlin and Elaine had swept away the old, classist division of a raised dais table for Arthur and his Knights – so contrary to the underlying mythos of Kingsman – in favor of dozens of smaller, round tables. There isn't assigned seating, per se, but agents have been instructed (under pain of uncomfortable assignments and lost paperwork) not to cluster together, and to rotate among all of the guests. Department heads have been given similar orders – to move about and get to know everyone.

Harry, of course, won't get much of a chance to sit and enjoy a festive meal. He's waiting in the wings, so to speak. Merlin is making the announcement after the main course has been served. And frankly, Harry's a bit nervous; he's never been one for public speaking. But these are _his_ people, literally and figuratively

The main course has been removed and before dessert is brought out, the servers come around with bottles of Champagne. A general murmur of excitement rises from the crowd. Of course they've been expecting some announcement, and now is the time.

The tables have been arranged around the perimeter of the room, leaving a large, central space – suitable for dancing when the music changes over to something livelier. Merlin, wearing a finely cut midnight blue tuxedo – the first time Harry's seen his old friend dressed so formally in decades – strides to the center of the ball room, holding a portable microphone.

"Good evening, my friends." The speakers squeal with feedback. "And well, fuck. All this tech and I can't manage a damn sound system." Merlin tosses the microphone to Elaine, and pitches his voice a bit louder. "Can everyone hear me?"

The room calls back with a rafter-resounding "Aye."

"Good." Merlin paces the open space. "Thank ye for coming tonight. I know it's difficult to take a night away from yer families this close to the holidays, and there are times I wish that I could tell ye to bring yer spouses and partners and significant others, but what we do isn't so accommodating to that. To those of ye who've managed to balance Kingsman and a family or personal relationships, I salute ye."

There's a smattering of applause.

"And to those of ye who walk a lonely path, who've put Kingsman before personal relationships, trust me, I know just how that feels, and yer sacrifice doesn't go unnoticed."

That gets a rousing cheer. Harry finds it sad that most Kingsman staff members are unattached.

Merlin continues his speech, pausing at key points for audience reaction. Harry's not surprised that Merlin's particularly good at this. After so many years of managing recruits, of running the largest department in the organisation, Merlin has to know how to command the troops, rally them to the cause. And two years as Arthur has certainly honed those skills. Harry just hopes he doesn't choke when it's his turn to speak.

"Tonight, after a dark few years, we celebrate together, not just as a team, but as a family."

There's more clapping.

"In prior years, the old – administration – saw Kingsman as a collective of a dozen agents and this event would celebrate those agents and their accomplishments, by and large ignoring the people who made everything happen. But no more. This evening is for everyone - the researchers who do so much preparatory work before an agent is handed a dossier, the handlers who monitor and guide the agents, field support personnel who get everyone home safe, the medical teams that patch up the fools who don't know how to duck, R&D techs – " that gets a loud cheer and a broad smile from Merlin, "who make all of the neat toys that keeps the agents alive, and the administrative support staff who do the unglamorous work – but the most important work of all – to keep Kingsman running.

"Speaking for every single Kingsman agent, I offer you my personal thanks. Nothing that Kingsman does could be done without you."

The cheering is endless and heartfelt and Harry feels it in his chest. He wonders if he can be the charismatic and commanding leader that Merlin is, with the ability to connect across age and class. 

There's a nudge at his side, and it's Eggsy. He whispers, "Merlin does all right."

"I was just thinking that he'll be a hard act to beat."

"Maybe, but I think he's been writing this speech in his head since the day they made him Arthur." Eggsy looks at Harry and Harry finds a wealth of confidence there. "This is Merlin the Trainer, and he's the guv. He's the guy who can get you to run another ten laps when your lungs are bursting because you just don't want to deal with the fallout from disappointing him. He's like a Marine drill sergeant and brilliant at it. But you, you're Harry-fucking-Plantagenet, you'll take us over the hill and into battle because we love you, we can't imagine not following you. 

Harry feels a bit overwhelmed by the comparison. 

"With you, it's _once more into the breach, dear friends, once more_ , because not following you is unthinkable."

Trying to keep focused on Merlin's speech, he says absently, "I always preferred the Saint Crispin's Day speech."

" _For he today that sheds his blood with me_ , that speech?"

Harry isn't the least bit surprised that Eggsy's quoting Shakespeare to him. Over the last few months, he's discovered that Eggsy is just as likely to put on a classic movie as he is to want to watch some superhero fest of mindless violence and destruction. 

Merlin's tone drops into serious mode and draws Harry's attention back to him. "Tonight we gather, not just to celebrate the season, but to mark a change in Kingsman. Two years ago, when I was asked to take Arthur's seat, I accepted on the condition that when a better candidate came along, I'd be allowed to step down. And about three months ago, the ideal candidate returned from the dead and stepped into the shop on Savile Row."

Merlin gestures for Harry to join him, and Harry steps into the limelight, feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

"Nearly thirty years ago, I met Harry Hart. In that time, he's never failed to awe me - his prowess as a field agent is unmatched, but he is so much more than that. Harry has always been a man of vision. When I watched him die over two years ago, I thought I'd seen the best chance for Kingsman's future bleed out under an unforgiving sky, and my heart broke. I'd like to think that I've served Kingsman well these past two years, and if I have, it's only because I've modeled my actions on what I thought my oldest friend, my greatest idol, would do."

Harry tries to be subtle as he wipes at the tears falling from his one good eye. When he gets the chance, he's going to kill Merlin. _Definitely while playing disco music in the background._

"But miracles do happen and one of Kingsman's greatest knights has been restored to us. He has, in his journeys, become a better man, a wiser and more compassionate man, and as hard as it may be, he's become even more qualified to lead us forward.

"In my three decades with Kingsman, this is, without question, the greatest honor I've ever had. Please rise and join me in welcoming Arthur, who has returned to us from over the sea."

To Harry's amazement, the noise that comes out of the assembled Kingsman staff sets the rafters shaking. Someone starts chanting "Harry" and someone else – probably Eggsy – add "For England and Saint George", which is picked up and then spreads through the room.

Harry just stands there, wordless and wrecked, wiping the tears than he can't make stop. Finally, after too many minutes, the room begins to quiet and Harry blows his nose, shoving his handkerchief back in his pocket. Everything he'd planned to say has just been erased from his mind. 

"Well, shit."

The round of laughter gives him a few precious seconds to gather his thoughts. "I had a speech all prepared, about Kingsman and honor and duty, but frankly, it would have bored the fucking snot out of you."

More laughter – vulgarity is always good. Up to a point.

Harry knows this needs to skirt the line between informality and inspirational, and that what he says now will set the tone for his tenure going forward.

"I have not had the honor of working with you for the last two years, but I have had privilege of reviewing all that Kingsman's accomplished in my absence. And I am simply blown away." Harry shakes his head and walks around the open floor. "There were loses, big ones that might have sunk this organization. But instead of casting blame, you all worked together to find a way to fix those problems and do everything possible to make sure they won't happen again. That is something you should all be proud of."

Harry turns to face Merlin. "You said that you were only doing what you thought I'd do. Well, I'm not so certain I can live up to your image of me, but I sure as hell am going to try. But I can only do that with you at my side. What is Arthur without his Merlin? Nothing but a guy with a sword and a big table."

That gets some light laughs. 

"I'll follow ye anywhere, Arthur. We've been to Hell and back quite a few times. What's another few dozen trips?" 

Merlin holds out his hand and Harry pulls him close for a tight hug. He whispers, _"I'm serious, I can't do this without you."_

Merlin whispers back, _"Ye won't have to, ye silly berk."_

Feeling a bit less shaky, Harry lets go and knows just what he needs to say. "Merlin's with me, the knights have given me their oaths, and from your reaction a few moments ago, I'd like to hope the rest of you are, too." He looks around and finds the smallest, youngest person in the room and walks over to her. "You, what's your name and what do you do here?"

"Claudia, sir. And I work in Transport. I'm a flight mechanic." She has a lilting Welsh accent

"How long have you been with Kingsman, Claudia?"

"A year, sir. Mister Caradoc, he recruited me from the RAF."

"So you’re the one who brings Kingsman agents home safe and sound."

"Part of the team, sir. Just one of many."

"No, not _just_. You are one of the happy few, the band of brothers and sisters who are part of the glory of Kingsman."

"Thank you, sir. It is my honor to serve."

"And mine to serve at your side."

Harry repeats this four more times as he works the room, frequently catching one of his knights' approving smiles. He finishes with a tall young man in a badly fitting – and clearly rented – tuxedo. His face is deeply tanned from a career that seems to be spent mostly outdoors. Harry holds out his hand. "Hello, I don't think we've met before.

The young man takes it, his hand rough and covered in small scars and scabs. "No sir, we haven't, unless you've been down to the kennels. I'm Brandon, the assistant kennel master."

Maybe it's all of the endorphins, or the second glass of wine he'd had on an empty stomach, but Harry suddenly has no filters between brain and mouth. "Galahad's pug, JB, keeps pissing on your wellies."

"Yes, sir. That he does. Little dog, big personality, and the wellies rinse off just fine."

As with the other young Kingsman employees he'd singled out, Harry asks, "How long have you been with us?"

"'Bout four years, sir. Mr. Merrick recruited me after I'd gotten my veterinary tech certification."

Harry leans close and fake-whispers, "I think you have the most important job of all."

Brandon then says something that surprises Harry. "I love working at Kingsman, but I'm nowhere nearly as important as the other folk around here. I don't keep airplanes flying, I don't sew folk up after they get hurt, I don't invent magical fabric that stops bullets. I just – "

Harry cuts him off. "Like I told Claudia, there's no 'just' about anyone's job here. You and Merrick and your co-workers in the kennels keep our canine companions happy and healthy. Agents are rarely home for long stretches, but many of them have dogs. Knowing that they can bring their beasts to you and not have to worry about them when they're on a mission is just as important as keeping an airplane flying. Never discount the value of happiness, Brandon."

The young man blinks and bites his lip. "Thank you, sir."

"No, thank you." Harry turns around and his gaze encompasses the whole room, not an easy feat with one eye. "My thanks to all of you, for everything you do, for all of the long hours you toil in service to Kingsman, and by extension, to the world. If acknowledgement and appreciation has sometimes seemed thin and grudgingly given, please accept my apologies for that. As my esteemed colleague, Merlin, has just said, what Kingsman does can't be done without you. Never forget that."

This seems like a good point to end his speech. He goes to one of the servers and gets a glass of Champagne. "Please join me in a toast."

There's a rush of noise as everyone gets to their feet again.

Harry raises his glass. "To the people of Kingsman."

And everyone answers back, "To Kingsman!"

So much of rest of the evening passes in a blur. There's music and wine and people moving on and off the dance floor, but Harry goes from table to table, using this as an opportunity to get to know the organization he now runs. All of this is exhausting, but at the same time, exhilarating. Harry knows this isn't how he normally is – he's never been one to draw strength from large crowds – but tonight is different. Perhaps because he's the sinecure of all eyes, that three hundred people are looking to him to safely lead them into the future. Perhaps Eggsy's ridiculous comparison to Henry the Fifth isn't so ridiculous after all.

Thinking of Eggsy makes Harry want to find him. That orange tuxedo also works as a homing beacon, making his Galahad easy to spot among the men in black and almost-black formalwear. Harry bids good evening to the team of medical personnel he'd been chatting with and plots a strategic path across the room. He manages to avoid any more long conversations and intercepts Eggsy as he leaves a table occupied by a collection of elderly and intensely disapproving white men. The Kingsman legal department.

Harry makes a mental note to have Elaine get with HR to start recruiting their replacements.

"Arthur." Eggsy is looking good enough to eat, even better than usual with his hair slightly mussed.

"Galahad. Are you enjoying your first Kingman Christmas party?"

"Very much. Almost sorry to see it end."

Harry looks around and notices that people are getting up, making their farewells; that the room has thinned out. There's still music playing, something old and vaguely familiar. He holds out his hand and asks, "May I have this dance, I believe it might be the last of the evening."

Eggsy takes his hand and knowing that everyone is looking at them, Harry takes Eggsy into his arms and they start to move in a pattern that's written into Harry's DNA - a waltz. The evening holds one last surprise, Eggsy is extraordinarily graceful in his arms, as if they've been doing this for years.

Something in his expression must have betrayed that surprise, because Eggsy comments. "Ginger Rogers had to do everything that Fred Astaire did, except backwards and in heels, so I've been Ginger to Roxy's Fred whenever we have the chance to practice."

"That will teach me to underestimate you, darling."

To Harry's delight, Eggsy blushes and says, "I both twirl _and_ dip, you know."

"Then shall we set the tongues to wagging?"

"It would be my genuine pleasure." Eggsy's body becomes more fluid it his arms and Harry just lets his feet fly, giving free rein to the muscle memory earned from hours spent in society events.

They twirl around the dance floor, Eggsy following his lead perfectly, as if they've been dancing together for years. Harry has a moment of intense regret that they'll never be able to partner like this in the field.

The music swells as the song comes to an end and Harry dips Eggsy with a showy flourish, right in front of the lawyers' table. Harry has nothing to prove and no need to cause trouble, except that Harry once lived to cause trouble. He pulls Eggsy up, into his arms, and gives him a passionate kiss.

The lawyers get up and leave as one.

When Eggsy sees what had happened, he asks, "Mission accomplished?"

Harry kisses Eggsy again, and replies, "Most pleasurably."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	16. A Most Precious Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas Eve, a time to spend with family, with loved ones. Eggsy has a most important gift for Harry, and of course, Harry has a gift - and a question - for Eggsy.

Harry has an arm draped around Eggsy's shoulders as they bid their guests goodnight. It's Christmas Eve and they'd invited Merlin, Roxy and Alastair for dinner - three dear friends who shouldn't be alone on such a night. They watch as Alastair, the evening's designated driver, drives off in a Kingsman cab. As the taillights disappear into the night, Harry pulls Eggsy inside and shuts and locks the door behind him.

Back in the living room, while Harry deals with the coffee cups, Eggsy stacks up the dessert dishes. "That was nice, wasn't it, Haz?"

"Very much, and maybe the best Christmas Eve I can remember."

Eggsy sighs, just a little sadly, and adds, "Me, too." They takes everything into the kitchen and by unspoken consent, agree to leave it for the morning. 

They flop down on the couch and Harry pulls Eggsy into a hug. "You miss your family, don't you." 

"You're my family, Haz."

"I mean your mother and sister."

Eggsy shrugs. "It's okay. I talked to them this morning, got my Christmas greetings in. Daisy loves her presents, Mum and Aunt Emily do, too. And it's really easier this way. No uncomfortable questions, no lies. That's always been something I've worried about, jeopardizing Mum's recovery when I can't tell her the truth, but she knows something isn't right."

"You're a good son." Harry can't help but think that Eggsy's a better son that Michelle Unwin deserves.

"I try." Eggsy leans his head against Harry's shoulder and Harry sighs in contentment. Could life get better than this?

"Have a question for you, Haz."

"Oh?"

"And you don't have to answer it if you don't want to."

"Well, ask away and I'll let you know." Harry isn't terribly worried. Eggsy sounds comfortable and happy.

"Why do you call Percival 'Alastair'? Other than me, he's the only one you call by his given name, not his code name. Even Roxy has to remind you not to call her Lancelot in a social setting."

"My inconsistencies trouble you?" Harry's not surprised by Eggsy's question; in truth, he'd expected Eggsy to ask that long before now.

"I've noticed it before, and I've noticed that sometimes Perce gets a little weird around you."

 _Ah._ "Was he weird tonight."

"A little - he gets this look, like he's missed out on something. First I thought he was thinking about James - about _his_ Lancelot - but it's not that. It's kind of like regret? Was there something between you guys once? Is that why you use his real name?"

Of course Eggsy puts it together. "Yes, once. A long time ago. We'd been on a mission together and discovered that we were both as bent as paperclips. Given the social mores of the early Nineties, we'd been deep in the closet - except for when the situation required otherwise - and it had seemed like a good idea to get together as more than a casual hookup."

"I'm guessing it didn't work." Eggsy rubs his cheek against Harry's chest, not the least bit distressed.

"It was a disaster. Other than the fact that we both liked cock, we were completely incompatible."

"How?"

Harry sighs. "There are some things you shouldn't know about your fellow knights."

"Haz, I bet that Perce probably thinks you've already told me. He's been giving me weird looks, like he's waiting for me to say something."

Harry's still not sure he should tell Eggsy.

"It is embarrassing? Because my word as a gentleman and Kingsman, I'll never say anything. You know I've never grassed anyone, why start with someone I like and admire?"

"It's not that I'm afraid you'll tell anyone, or even tell Alastair that you know. I'm afraid it'll change your perception of him."

"Now you've got me wondering and worried. And I'd hope you'd have faith in my professionalism."

Eggsy's right, naturally. "I do, darling." But Harry still debates telling Eggsy.

And Eggsy's picked up on that. "You don't have to tell me. It's not something I really need to know."

Harry makes up his mind and tells Eggsy. "Alastair was into pain play."

Eggsy doesn't say anything for a moment, but when he does ask questions, they betray no disgust or juvenile comments, just simple curiosity. "Like whips and knifes and stuff?"

"Yes, but more than that. He liked the sexual act to hurt."

Eggsy's tone changes, there's a touch of anger and concern in it now. "He wanted to hurt you or wanted you to hurt him?"

"He wanted me to hurt him. Dry fucking, figging, using oversized dildos without preparation. It was something he needed and something I could never give him."

"Yeah, I can't see you ever liking that. That time at the house in Lake Windermere, when I'd suggested edge play - you were totally freaked by the idea of hurting me during sex, even though I trusted that you wouldn't."

"I don't know if you remember, but you'd offered to let me fuck you dry when I was teasing you in my office a few weeks ago."

"Yeah - yeah. I kinda remember that. You were being a right bastard when I was so desperate." Eggsy laughs, and then turns thoughtful. "Must have freaked you out a bit."

"A little. More concerned than anything."

"Don't be. Not into pain at all. But my mouth tends to run when you get me wound up. No one else can do that to me."

Harry believes him. There's nothing he's observed about Eggsy that would make him think that his lover was looking for something that Harry would be incapable of giving.

"So you and Perce, you tried it for a while and it didn't work?"

"No, it didn't work out at all. But we knew we were going to be working together for a long time and made a conscious effort not to let our personal failure affect our professional relationship. One of the ways I was able to do that was by remembering that Alastair had been my friend long before we'd tried to be lovers. Using his real name helped."

"You're a good man, Harry Hart."

"I don't know about that, but I do try. And you, darling, make me try even harder."

Eggsy looks up at him, a wry smile playing about his lips. "Would you be insulted if I called you a right big sap?"

"Not in the least. A gentleman is never offend by the truth. And I thought my speech at the Christmas party proved just how big of a sap that I am."

"Your speech was awesome and perfect."

"Perhaps." 

Eggsy looks like he wants to argue at that equivocation, but instead just shakes his head, letting it go, and snuggling a little deeper into Harry's embrace.

Harry holds Eggsy, breathing deep of his lover's scent. Cologne, hair product, deodorant, good wool, warm cotton, and the underlying musk of a busy day. He'd like to bottle this and be able to breathe it in on the days and nights when Eggsy's away.

"Mmm. Happy Christmas, Harry."

"Happy Christmas, Eggsy." 

Harry's looks over at the piles of gifts under the Christmas tree. They'd initially agreed to stick with small gifts, but that agreement was quickly broken. One evening last week, a large locked crate with a red bow and a tag that said "For Harry" appeared under the tree. Harry, being as curious as the proverbial cat, had tried to shift it and determine its contents, but it weighed more that he'd expected. In retaliation, Harry pulled in a few favors and had a formalwear style leather overcoat made for Eggsy - something beautiful and completely impractical, but very much suited for Eggsy. He'd picked it up this morning and added it to the growing pile of gifts under the tree. 

He'd also bought them a pair of matching red dressing gowns, each one embroidered with both of their initials, so both robes would be work by both of them, indiscriminately. Harry suspected, however, that his robe - the one that they've been sharing for the past three months - would still be fought over on occasion.

There are fun gifts, too, small things that Harry's picked up for Eggsy in the weeks since they'd decided to celebrate the holiday. But the most important gift is still upstairs, locked away in his desk drawer. He wants to give it to Eggsy now, he wants to _ask_ Eggsy now. The moment feels perfect, but it also means he has to get up, leave the warmth and comfort of Eggsy curled in his arms to retrieve it.

Which is, when Harry thinks about it, a small price to pay.

"Haz?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Is it after midnight?"

Harry checks the time. "Yes, it is."

"So it's Christmas Day, then."

"So it seems."

"Good." To Harry's surprise, Eggsy gets up and goes over to the pile of gifts.

"What are you doing?"

"It's Christmas and there's something I want to give you now."

"Can you give me a few minutes?"

Eggsy looks over his shoulder and smiles. "Sure, Haz. Not going anywhere."

Harry goes upstairs, retrieves the ring and for good measure, takes a few minutes to wash up - clear the fog of a good meal and plenty of wine out of his head.

Back downstairs, he finds Eggsy sitting on the couch, holding a small package, appropriately wrapped in festive paper. Eggsy seems oddly tense.

"Darling, is everything all right?"

Eggsy smiles at him and there's still something off in his expression. He's tense and wary, and from the way Eggsy's turning over the package in his hands, it seems as if he's not sure that he wants to give it to him. "Everything is fine, Haz. Come on, sit down." Eggsy pats the seat on the couch that Harry had abandoned just a few minutes earlier.

Harry returns to the couch, all too conscious of the wedding band in a box in his pocket.

"Here. This is something - " Eggsy makes another odd face and thrusts the package at him. "It's something I bought but I didn't buy it for you. But when you came back, I knew that I had to give it to you. It's - it's kind of important, I think."

Eggsy ends this incredible speech on a diffident note, as if he's not sure of his own words.

Harry strives to comfort Eggsy, to soothe his obvious concern. "I am sure that whatever it is, I'll love it."

Eggsy just shrugs.

Harry unwraps the parcel and discovers that it's a book. An old and well-made book. There's no title on the cover, but the gold embossed lettering on the spine says _The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, Vol III, by Edward Gibbon_. 

Harry looks at the book, trying to understand the significance of it. He turns it over in his hands, noting the fore-edge painting, the slight signs of wear. There's something about this book that feels familiar, and with that familiarity, importance.

Eggsy's staring at him, trying to will him into understanding.

"Darling, it's lovely, but …"

"You just don't get what I'm giving you a book that could have come out of your own library."

Harry looks again at the volume in his hands again and a light finally goes on. "I did have a complete first edition set of 'The Decline and Fall' that was very similar to this, but I'd lost the third volume."

Eggsy nods. "I know. About six months after I moved in here, I realized that one of the books was missing. It felt like my fault."

"Eggsy, why would you think that? I'd lost the book almost twenty years ago." Harry corrects himself, it was before the Lancelot trials that had claimed Lee Unwin's life. "No, almost twenty-five years. There was no help for it, I'd been forced to leave it behind and it was irretrievable. Nothing to do with you." Harry leans close and strokes Eggsy's cheek. "You take on so much, darling. The missing book wasn't a burden for you to carry."

"I know, but sometimes feeling aren't really rational, right? I'd keep seeing this empty space on the shelf and it would hit me like a punch in the face. Like you being gone, being dead, and all the words between us still unsaid, that fucking gunshot echoing in my head. Nothing was ever going to be right again."

Eggsy's words hurt, but not because Eggsy wants them to. They hurt because they remind Harry that in a moment of disappointment, he'd thoughtlessly damaged something so very fragile. "I still don't deserve your forgiveness, Eggsy."

Eggsy shakes his head. "That's not why I'm telling you this, or why I'm giving you this book. You see, I'd gotten some crazy notion in my head that if I could find the missing book, replace it with another one, I'd be able to move on, to be able to think of you and not feel all hollowed out. That you'd be a good memory for me and that I could forget that I'd fucked up."

"Eggsy, please …"

"No, let me finish. This book - it's not about forgiveness or fucking up - it's about making peace with the past and moving forward. You see, I'd been to every bookseller in London, in every city I went to, I'd put in a request. For eighteen months, I'd haunted old bookshops hoping to find it. But that was an impossible task. You've got poncy rich-guy tastes and your set, so I'd been told, was a one-of-a-kind thing and it would be impossible to replace the missing book with one that matched the rest of the set."

"You were told correctly. I'd bought the set when I was at University. I'd seen it at house sale and liked the idea of it, of collecting books with fore-edge painting. It broke my heart when I lost it." Harry runs his hands along the leather and takes a good look at the decoration on the page edges - a panorama of the Roman Forum - he realizes something.

"This is the missing book. This is the book I'd lost. How did you find it?"

"Like I said, I'd left requests with every fine bookseller in London, and one of them found it at a house sale."

Harry feels like someone's just walked across his grave. "Did they say where?"

Eggsy thinks for a moment, trying to remember. "Derbyshire - I think that's all he said."

"That's where I lost it, at an estate in Derbyshire. You found my lost book." Harry can't quite believe it. "How is this even possible?"

Eggsy whispers, "Nothing is every truly lost."

"I'm beginning to believe so."

"Not even you, Harry. I never wanted to believe that you were truly lost to me. I kept this house perfect, just in case you came back. I looked for the impossible as a way to give me closure, all the while knowing that closure would never come. But somehow, the impossible happened and this book was returned to this place." Eggsy places a shaking hand on top of the book. "I'd put it away, back with the rest of the volumes, and I felt nothing. No closure, no feeling that the rest of my life could finally begin. It's why I didn't want you to go into the library and find it. I don't think I could have explained why the book was back. Not without telling you everything else."

"Oh, Eggsy, darling. I am so very sorry." Harry puts the book aside and tries to pull Eggsy into his arms, to comfort him. Eggsy resists.

"Ask me when I got this book, Harry. Ask me, please."

Harry has a terrible, wonderful feeling. "When did you get this book?"

"The day before you showed up at the shop. The day before you came back into my life, the day before everything that had been wrong with me had been made right."

"The day I came home to England."

"Yeah, Haz. I got this back the day you came home. I'd been away for two months - "

"Tashkent."

"Yeah. Tashkent. And just as I was about to collapse and sleep for a week, Frank Doel at Marks & Co. called and said they'd found what could be a matching copy. How the hell could I sleep, knowing that it was there, waiting for me? And the minute I touched it, I knew - I knew it was your book, that somehow, they'd found it and brought it back to me. I never dreamed that it would bring _you_ home, too. But when Merlin called me the next morning and told me you were at the shop, I wasn't really surprised. Of course you were there. I'd brought you home."

Harry is speechless. So much makes sense now. Eggsy's absolute acceptance of his return, his unwavering belief that they were meant for each other.

Eggsy sniffles and rubs the back of his hand against his nose. "I've wanted to give this to you, to tell you what had happened, how I found it. But the moment never seemed quite right. When we were away at Lake Windermere seemed too soon. Then I became a bit of a basket case after the interrogation. Then your election as Arthur. Now, though - now seemed perfect. Just the two of us, happy and whole and here and everything as it should be."

"Yes, we are happy and whole and everything is absolutely as it should be." Harry takes Eggsy's hands. "You are my life, Eggsy. Unequivocally. I never imagined I'd be able to say that to another person. That I'd be able to love anyone as much as I love you."

"And I'd never believed that I could be loved the way you love me. A guy like you – "

Harry cuts Eggsy off, "If you're about to comment on my class and birth, don't. You know what my father was – we're not that different, really."

Eggsy shakes his head. "No, I wasn't going there. I was going to say a guy who's so powerful, so fucking brilliant and gorgeous. A guy who is pretty much the definition of 'above my paygrade'. But you do love me and I love you more than _I_ ever thought possible. It's not just what you once did for me, or that you believed in me. It's that you're everything I've ever wanted, and for most of my life, I've never gotten _anything_ I had wanted. Usually, it's been the opposite. Anything I had that was good had been taken away from me, or I fucked up and lost it."

Harry wants to get down on one knee right now and give Eggsy the permanence he's craving. "Darling, you deserve _everything_. It breaks my heart that you've lost so much."

"Nah, it's okay, Haz. Whatever I lost is more than made up for by you. I know things have been going really well for us – we haven't pissed each other off too much. But it's been a bit of a honeymoon, hasn't it?"

"Yes, it has. But I think it's just a sign that we are right for each other. We've been pushed together in what should have been a very stressful situation – constantly in each other's company, under surveillance. But we didn't break, darling, did we?"

"No." Eggsy bites his lip. "This might sound a bit crazy, but I think Merlin's been playing matchmaker."

Harry laughs. "Not so crazy at all. I've been thinking the exact same thing since he'd told us I'd be moving in with you."

"You told him how you felt about me?"

"No, but Merlin is the most observant person we'll ever know. He'd teased me a bit during your candidacy for Lancelot, especially after I'd woken up from my nap."

"Coma."

"Whatever." Harry waves off the distinction. "He's always known how I felt about you."

"And it wasn't like I'd made a secret of how I felt about you." A bright red flush covers Eggsy's cheeks. "And even when he says he's not watching, he's always listening."

Harry's intrigued. "There's a story there, darling, isn't there."

Eggsy shakes his head and the flush darkens.

"Did he listen to you masturbate?"

Eggsy huffs out a laugh. "That wouldn't be so terrible."

"Then what?"

"I might have let a princess do me in the ass after I killed Valentine. I might have called her 'Harry' when I came. Merlin never said anything about it, but I'm pretty sure he knew."

Harry blinks. "Well, of all the things I expected to hear, that wasn't one of them." 

"He's always been real patient with me when I needed to talk about you, to get to know you and figure out everything I'd never have. So, yeah – I'm pretty certain that Merlin used the Lazarus Protocol to give us a little happiness." Eggsy sighs and smiles. 

"A lot of happiness, my darling." Harry makes a gentle but essential correction.

"Yeah. A whole lot of happiness." 

_This is the moment._

"There's something I need to tell you, Eggsy."

"Harry?" Eggsy now looks worried. "What's wrong."

"Nothing, nothing at all." Harry gives himself a mental smack across the face. Eggsy, for all his sweet nature, has been conditioned to see the glass half empty, to worry at the unexpected. "There's something I should have told you a while ago, but you know how it is – the moment never seems right. There's always something else going on, or I'm not ready. Mostly, I think, it's been that. I've just not been ready."

"For what, Haz?"

Harry tries to find the perfect words, but realizes that there never are any. "It's about why I came back."

"You're a Kingsman, Harry." Eggsy states that like an indisputable fact. "What else could you do?"

"Disappear. Spend the rest of my life on a beach someplace, sipping martinis and working on my tan."

"You'd last a week, Haz. You'd start shooting people out of boredom."

"Maybe." At Eggsy's skeptical look, he admits, "Maybe not. But that's not the point. I didn't have to come back to Kingman. I didn't have to risk life and limb."

Eggsy's confused. "What do you mean, life and limb?"

"Merlin didn't give you the whole speech about the Lazarus Protocol? That it's within Arthur's discretion to have a returning agent executed if he feels it's for the good of the agency? I could have been shot on sight, if Arthur had given the order."

Eggsy blinks. "Yeah, Merlin might have mentioned that when he gave me my first debriefing after they made me Galahad. I didn't remember that until now."

"I had no way of knowing who was Arthur when I returned. I thought Chester was still in charge, honestly. And I figured I had a fifty-fifty chance of living until nightfall. When Alastair let it slip that Chester was gone, I thought my odds had plummeted, until Merlin appeared in a Kingsman suit."

"Then why did you come back, Harry? What the hell was so important that you were willing to die – again?"

"You, Eggsy. You were – and will always be – worth dying for. I couldn't bear not knowing what had happened to you. When you failed the last test, Chester called me in a rage. You'd pointed a gun at him, you'd stolen his car. He wanted to wipe your memories – everything from the moment before you'd called in your favor. Do you know what that would have done to you?"

Eggsy nods. "I would have been a vegetable, or worse. I'd once asked Merlin why we only have amnesia drugs that take away just an hour or so. He said that anything more would make someone dangerously psychotic."

Harry nods in agreement. "I'd been terrified that that was what had happened to you. That your memories had been erased and you were left to wander the streets unable to fend for yourself. I'd promised myself that I'd find you, take care of you, do whatever I could to fix what had happened to you."

"That's why you'd told me to stay put, to wait here for you to come back." Eggsy's eyes go wide in dawning comprehension.

"Exactly. I didn't want Chester to get his hands on you, and given the little time that I had, keeping you here had seemed the best way to keep you safe."

Eggsy laughs. "The best laid plans of mice and men - "

"Often go awry." Harry completes the line. "Yes, they certainly do. That first morning at the shop, seeing you in a Kingsman suit, so obviously an agent, lifted a terrible weight from my shoulders. Once I knew that you were safe, I could face anything that Kingsman would throw at me."

"I love you, Haz. You're a crazy bastard, but I love you more every damn day."

Harry swallows. He needs to tell Eggsy the rest of it. "I didn't come back just because I was worried about your fate. I came back because I love you and life without you wouldn't be worth living. I needed to find you and earn your forgiveness." Harry pauses, his mouth dry. "And then your love." 

"You have that, my forgiveness, and more importantly, my love. There's no question about that." Eggsy leans forward and kisses Harry on the lips. Harry can tell that Eggsy wants more than a kiss and if he's willing to be distracted from his plans, Harry would give Eggsy everything. That is a universal truth, Harry Hart will always give Eggsy Unwin everything he needs.

Eggsy whimpers as if it actually hurts when Harry breaks their kiss, but it's not without reason. He pulls away and reaches into his pocket for the ring box. This is something that Harry's going to do just once in his life, and he's going to do it right, so he goes down on one knee in front of Eggsy.

"Haz?" Eggsy bites his lip. "What are you doing?" 

"Darling, my darling." Harry doesn't take his eyes from Eggsy and he loves how color floods Eggsy's cheeks. "I'm not a good man."

"No, Harry – you are. You are a good man." Eggsy's voice is cracking a little.

"Shh, don't interrupt." Harry grins, happiness is making him buoyant. "I'm not a good man, but you make me want to be a better one, to be something more than what I've been. You've brought me joy, you've given my life true meaning. I was just a shell before knowing you and you've filled me up. You've made me real, Eggsy Unwin."

"Haz – "

Harry opens the ring box. "This is my maternal grandfather's wedding band. When I was a child, he was the only one in my family who had loved me unconditionally. He knew what I was even before I recognized it in myself. When I was eighteen and trying to figure out how to live my life as a secret, he told me that I should never be afraid of who I am, and more importantly, to never be ashamed; that I should live honestly and love fully. He gave me this ring and made me promise that one day, I'd give it to the man I loved and wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

"It's taken me a while to get here. I've kept my promise to him and have never been ashamed of what I am, I've never lied about it, but until you, I've never had a reason to embrace the part of me that wants to love and be loved. I know that I'm more than twice your age; that physically, my best years are behind me, that I'm not what you probably dreamed of as a husband, but that is what I want to be for however long we both have. I want to be your husband, Eggsy."

Harry takes the ring – it's a simple platinum band – and slides it onto Eggsy's left ring finger. It fits perfectly. "Will you marry me?

Eggsy throws himself into Harry's arms and they fall backwards onto the carpet. Eggsy's perched over him, his eyes lambent with tears. "Of course I will." Eggsy kisses him, not with passion but with love and tenderness. 

Harry murmurs against Eggsy's lips, "You've made me the happiest man alive, Eggsy."

"Not happier than I am, Harry. I had no clue that you wanted to do this." Eggsy holds out his hand and looks at the ring. "I had no clue." His voice is soft with wonder.

"Why not, darling?" Harry pulls Eggsy's hand to his lips and kisses his palm. "I want forever with you. I want to tie us together forever." 

"You really mean that? We'll be each other's forever?"

"Yes, my darling."

Eggsy looks like he wants to say something else; something about promises that might be broken, but Harry doesn't want to hear that. And Harry knows that time isn't his friend. 

But he won't let reality intrude on their happiness, not now, not in this perfect moment. In this moment, they truly do have forever.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the story about Eggsy's gift to Harry, the missing volume from The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, seems familiar, well it supposed to. This story started out as a follow up to [Nothing is Ever Lost](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12642156), a short ficlet I wrote last fall. That story ended with Harry returning to Kingsman, alive and well, and a few commenters had wanted to know what happened next. Well, it's taken about eighty thousand words, but this whole story is about what happened next.
> 
> This is why Harry had been kept out of the library - I hope everyone has found the resolution to that small mystery satisfying.


	17. Epilogue - A Gentleman's Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Eggsy have their happily ever after. They've earned it.

"Well?" Harry touches the edge of a small gilt picture frame, the only thing that now graces the red walls in his office.

"Looks a little crooked to me." Eggsy goes and stands in the middle of the room. "Yeah, it's a touch crooked. Need to go a bit to the left."

Harry does as Eggsy requests and taps the frame gently. "How's that?"

"Now it's perfect. What do you think?" 

Harry goes and stands next to Eggsy, resting his cheek on his husband's head. The single framed item looks a little small. "Maybe we should have had it blown up."

"Blown up? With what? A lighter grenade?"

"No, silly. Made bigger." Harry gestures with his fingers. "Made so we could read it without needing to stand an inch in front of it."

"Ah." Eggsy leans into him. "Like your Sun front pages. Thought a gentleman was supposed to be modest about his achievements."

"Since marrying you is the greatest achievement of my life, perhaps a little bragging wouldn't be amiss." Harry has to wonder at how much he's changed.

Eggsy must be reading his mind. "Thought that a gentleman's name was only supposed to appear in the papers three times his whole life – the whole birth, marriage, death thing. Sounds like something out of a Monty Python movie."

"God, what a prat I was." Harry shakes his head. "That means that a gentleman does nothing of importance, holds no opinion worth sharing, and has no interest in the betterment of the world."

"Really?" Eggsy looks startled. "I thought that a spy _should_ keep his name out of the papers."

"Yes, of course you're right about that - for a spy. But I'd been parroting my father's precepts of what a _gentleman_ should do. And those precepts are – as you know – suspect."

Eggsy wraps his arm around Harry's waist. "Your dad was a right evil wanker. Bet he and Dean keep each other good company in Hell."

"That is a rather delightful idea." Harry relishes the thought of the two violent drunks, from the opposite ends of the social spectrum, trapped together for eternity.

"The thing's just the right size, you know." 

"Hmm?" Harry is thinking about other things that are just the right size.

But Eggsy draws Harry's attention back to the piece on the wall. "It's not like we don't know what it says or need reminding or anything."

"True enough." Harry pulls Eggsy close and kisses him. It's not the first kiss of the day, nor will it be the last one. But like every kiss before and every kiss to come, it is the best kiss of the day.

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_  
On September 23, 2018, Lord Henry Reginald Hart, seventh Earl of Mersey, married Sir Gary Stephen Unwin, CBE, of London, in a private ceremony at Deepcut Church in Deepcut, Surrey, the Mersey family seat. Lord Hart, formerly Commander Hart of Her Majesty's Royal Navy, is currently Chairman of KM Industries. The former Mr. Unwin is the Vice President for Marketing for Kingsman Tailors of Savile Row._

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_The grooms honeymooned at family properties in Cumbria and in Tuscany._

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_FIN_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for reading this, week in and week out. I have enjoyed everyone's comments and each kudos and every single hitcount. 
> 
> This is the longest story I've ever written from a single point of view, which has presented all kinds of challenges. There are lots of places where I ached to give another perspective and I kept telling myself that I'll write a whole bunch of timestamps. If there are any you would like to see - for example, Merlin's thoughts when Harry asks to take on training, or Roxy as she watches Harry and Eggsy, or even what's in that big, locked box under the Christmas tree, drop me a comment or leave me something in my ask box on tumblr - you can find me on here - [](http://elrhiarhodan.tumblr.com)[](http://elrhiarhodan.tumblr.com)**elrhiarhodan**.


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